


Opportunity

by Unified820



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Foreplay, Hawke Being an Asshole, Kissing, Language, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Magic Revealed, Nudity, Purple Hawke, Red Hawke, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unified820/pseuds/Unified820
Summary: A Modern AU retelling of Hawke (op mage) and Fenris (lots of baggage) where they must team up to both get what they want. The game timeline is adjusted to allow for creative license."‘Ridiculous’ the man thought to himself as he slicked back his wet snow white hair. He knew that only a tenth of the line would get inside, the rest would wait hours in the cold before either giving up or being turned away at the door. The line was of no concern for him; he knew how to get inside. How to get to her. "------Thank you, dear readers, for patiently waiting for the revision. I hope you enjoy the revamped and time dedicated version. I have retained original chapters 9 & 10 as one-shots posted separately to give insight into my headcanon for this piece. If you have already read the piece I encourage you to go back and start fresh; a new perspective & better framing will add to the read.I have a goal in mind as to where we are going & how to get there with a clear POV and voice. I am excited about this ride & want y'all to be as well. Find me on Tumblr @vexedbex to chat, complain, or comment. I am always open to new ideas, prompts, & avenues.Thanks again and cheers to you!





	1. Meet and Greet

The bass rhythm thumped steadily and forcefully through the walls creating a dull roar on the street. A queue stretched halfway around the block. ‘Ridiculous’ the man thought to himself as he slicked back his wet snow white hair. He knew that only a tenth of the line would get inside, the rest would wait hours in the cold before either giving up or being turned away at the door. The line was of no concern for him; he knew how to get inside. How to get to her.   
  
"Ms. Hawke," greeted the two doormen as they each opened their respective side, "welcome to The Hanged Man."

The man moved quickly to keep her in a line of sight, slipping behind the bouncer unnoticed to the black double doors with the silhouette of a man hanging upside down by his feet in bloodied burgundy split between them. When they swung open, the crowd cheered to the swell of the music believing one of their lucky few had gained entry. He laughed inwardly at their stupidity, sauntering into the haze of smoke and flashing lights behind her where the momentum of the music propelled them through the mass of sweaty bodies to the far side of the dance floor. Here too, another imposing and robust guard acknowledged her curtly before letting her pass to a set of glass stairs that circled up to an observation deck. Cries of 'Lady Amell' broke out from above, and he looked up to see her mounting the last few steps to the landing. He swiftly walked around to the stair guard, flashed a fake V.I.P pass and bound up the stairs in time to hear her call out to a short man standing amidst plush black velveteen chairs and sofas.

"Varric," she said with a stern voice.

The red-haired companion greeted her with his shoulders and hands raised, palms forward in apology, "I know, I know, but I can't help myself. Such an amazing tale of a refugee turned a noblewoman with nothing more than her wits and skills to guide her from the Blight to Hightown. The people demand a heroine."

The man moved through a group of half-drunk patrons with the skill of a practiced dancer as he listened to their exchange and found a seat at the bar. The vantage point was not ideal, but he was tall enough to see over most heads. It was not overtly obvious he was watching her as she leaned over her companion so that her red lips glistened near his ear. Despite straining he could not hear what she said, but observed Varric’s sheepish reaction and quick gesture to take her attention elsewhere. When she stood and thanked him, her voice was sing-song, and Varric cringed. Intrigued by their odd exchange, the man split his sights between her and Varric who, once she was several steps towards her new target, hastily made his way to a clutch of patrons where a petite, brunette woman sat chatting. They spoke in hushed tones for a moment, the man only gathering her name was Merrill before she stood and dawdled towards Hawke, her head bobbing to a silent count of her mouth along the way. Varric stood back, arms crossed as if waiting.  
  
In the next moment, the man heard, rather than saw, the slam of a flagon on the bar and craned his tattooed neck to see the source. The new companion had dark hair in a military cut and looked drunk. The red of the alcohol tinted his cheeks as he opened his mouth presumably to yell something back, but before he could, his demeanor shifted instantly, from fighting fool to besotted crush. Merrill popped her head on his shoulder, the faint hint of an intricate scar or tattoo across her face, barely visible in the lights. Hawke shot Varric a knowing glance then heaved her chest in an exaggerated sigh as if to signal her capitulation. Whatever her relationship was to the military man it was not an easy one, and Varric had deigned to interfere. Her instinct to turn to him displayed a level of trust and further supported the assessment that Varric would be a crucial ally in securing Hawke’s approval.

The man stretched his lean frame and regarded her choice of attire along with the message it sent. The stiletto height of her heels and the tight black leather pants screamed of a woman in control and comfortable with that role as she traveled to an alcove table. The man had learned on his first visit that the horseshoe booth in which she sat was hers and hers alone. No one dared to sit there, even when she was not in attendance. The barkeep told him a cautionary tale of an unwitting guest who had once taken her seat while she was getting a drink and then refused to move when she returned. Hawke had made quick work of his jacket, sending it up in flames with a flick of her finger before he scampered away with his tail between his legs and ash on his shoulder. She was not always so gruff and rude, the barkeep had added, but she had boundaries, and when you crossed them you were screwed. The man had promised to keep it in mind.

A drunk who had not received the same warning or no longer cared approached her, and the man picked up his glass of wine and moved to a closer chair to watch with rapt attention as the drunk hit on her. "So, are you a mage because you just magicked my breath away," came his attempted silky voice. Her skill was a public secret, but she was still careful to conceal the information. The blonde guard from the stairs was a Templar who surely would only ignore his day job for so long if she did anything exceedingly rash.  
  
"Not interested," she answered shrewdly, not even tilting her head to acknowledge his intrusion.  
  
"Oh come on babe - I've seen you around, I know what you can do. I'm not scared of a little tingle,” the drunk cooed with slurred speech and foul breath as he slid his bony hand across her shoulder. Her reaction was severe and swift, grabbing the thin bone fingers and with a quick jerk, flipping the drunk’s arm so that he was twisted and pinned to the table. No one made a move to stop her, and the man could see Varric watching cautiously, eyes unblinking. He was evidently the one everyone else expected to intervene and when he did not act, neither did they.   
  
"You should be scared," she hissed, "now run along before I show you what a real tingle feels like." Her voice was low but steady, with not a hint of effort as she released her hold. He did as she had instructed and the man smirked at the result; the next few days would be entertaining at least. He liked her spirit, and the way the corners of her mouth turned up in a self-pleased smile, too short lived before the scowl returned, ostensibly due to the tall, well-built figure that loomed in her peripheral.

“You must be more careful Hawke,” said the figure, posture as straight as a board.

"Don't start with me, Sebastian. I am not in the mood," she warned with a low growl in her voice and a shake of her head.  
  
"What has got you in such a state this evening?" the brogue of his voice rolled the words into a song as he sat down next to her forcing her to scoot over to accommodate.  
  
"I'm frustrated if you must know," she explained, pausing before she continued, leaning into him, "perhaps you know a prayer or two to help with that?" Sebastian’s sat up impossibly straighter, his whole body tensed and abruptly shifted away from her with a stifled cough, returning her hand to the top of the table.   
  
"Ah, uh, now Hawke, why would you come to the club if you're frustrated? Surely there are better ways to work through your...frustrations, than getting drunk here."   
  
"See that's what I like about you Baty: you're sweet and direct...if a little chaste for my taste,” she tsked. “Why do you come here if you're not going to take part in its libations?" she teased with a wink and kissed the air.   
  
Apparently good-natured, he only chuckled at her response. "I like the company and where the company goes, so must I. Besides, the music is fine, and you might be surprised at the opportunities a place like this presents for the Maker to spread his light." Hawke rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.  
  
"I need a refill if we are going to start debating the finer points of Andraste's ass."   
  
"Allow me," he stood with a courtly formality and walked to the bar.  
  
Hawke remained alone watching the dance floor bounce with limbs flung haphazardly, the driving beat pounded ears and dulled minds. The man took a deep breath and steeled himself; it was now or never. Checking to see that the chaste friend still occupied the bar, he smoothed back his rain-slicked hair and strode to her table. "You scare off meek pets and shun strong men, is there some middle ground that pleases you?" he inquired using the deepest register of his voice resounding with charm.

There was a long pause before she turned to him and he smirked as her mouth parted slightly on a slow intake of breath, her eyes locked on his in plain satisfaction at the sight of him. "Perhaps I like women," she answered in a tantalizingly husky voice, adding a small lick to the inside of her bottom lip.   
  
He leaned on the back of the booth, his soft hair falling stubbornly over one eye, "of that, I have no doubt. I have seen you before, and you certainly take pleasure in certain company, but I think it is a man whom you prefer to warm your bed at night."

"My my, you are observant. You say you have seen me before, but I am positive the same is not true for me. I would have remembered a perfectly handsome figure such as yourself." Hawke pulsed her eyebrows and smiled, gesturing for him to join her with a wave of her slim hand and short nails lacquered black with red accent.   
  
"I try not to stand out," he answered dryly as he slid into the cramped booth only taking his eyes away from hers long enough to register the soft sweep of her fingertip across the pout of her bottom lip.

Hawke laughed, "that my new friend is something I imagine is very difficult for you." She dipped her head and looked up at him through her long eyelashes.   
  
"Not so difficult. You just confessed to not having noticed me." He gave her another smirk as he spoke and took a sip of his wine. Her eyes seemed to flicker, and he was unsure if the club had suddenly become warmer or if it was just their booth.  
  
Hawke gave a short purr in acknowledgment of his point. "You say you've been watching me, what else have you gleaned from your observations?" she asked as she adjusted herself in the seat, bringing one arm up at the elbow to rest on the back of the booth. She ran her fingers through her silky hair, while the other arm leaned on the table, fingers drumming to the beat of the music. The lighting of the observation deck was dim, but here in her corner, it was dark. The only light, that which flashed from the spotlights below as they circled upwards in their rotation. Bright pink, green, yellow, and purple took turns dancing across her body, bouncing off the white of her sheer loose blouse unbuttoned far enough to reveal the dark band of her bra underneath.  
  
"A fair number of things,” he answered with a tilt of his head. “My lady for instance," he did not bother to mask his enjoyment of the lights on her skin.  
  
"You won't get any points for that one, my family's status is common knowledge; try again," she encouraged with a lift of her chin.  
  
"Hmm, alright. You are a mage." Her eyes locked with his as he spoke. With quick reflexes and a dull thud from below the table, the ball of her foot pressed against the bulge of his inseam.  
  
"I hear mages can shoot lightning from their limbs, even their feet." Her tone was velvety smooth, and her gaze steady, but the threat carried nonetheless. She did not know him, and despite how much she may want to devour him, he knew she would have no qualms about sending him to the Fade if he even considered action that would lead her to the Gallows.

He stifled his surprise along with the heat growing in his stomach and rolled his hips forward grinding against the ball of her foot as he leaned back, arms mirroring her posture. "An intriguing rumor," his voice challenging her and calling her bluff. Sebastian returned with drinks before either could see how far his challenge could take them.  
  
"Hawke, you've made a friend - introduce us," teased Sebastian as he sat down and passed her a tumbler of whiskey, the single ice cube crinkled in the glass with the movement. She withdrew her foot and moved to allow Sebastian more room to sit, closing the gap between herself and the man.   
  
"Help yourself, Baty," she gestured with her open palm sweeping out towards the man, her lips pursed in a smug smile. He did not fail to notice the new chill in her voice. He had stepped too far in their game and put her on edge.   
  
"Hmm...yes well," Sebastian turned with a smile to the man sitting across from him. "I'm Sebastian Vael, please don't mind our little bird, I promise her peck is harmless," he said as he raised one eyebrow and gestured with a flick of his head towards Hawke. She crossed her arms indignantly and stuck her tongue out at him in response.  
  
"I shall endeavor to keep that in mind," he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, "My name is Fenris, it's a pleasure to meet you, Sebastian." He sat up and extended his hand in polite greeting.  
  
"A little wolf, perhaps your bark is worse than your bite," countered Hawke as she eyed him narrowly.  
  
"That would disappoint you I think," he whispered to her as he leaned back again, settling subtly closer to her as he did. The corners of her mouth rose slightly at his words, and she reached for a sip of her drink as a blush bloomed on her cheeks. If Sebastian heard the comment or noticed the shift, he ignored it.  
  
"Tell us, Fenris, what brings you to the Hanged Man tonight? Hawke and I were discussing our motivations before your arrival."  
  
"Careful Fen, this one would see you converted to the faith by evening's end." Hawke teased them both as she began absentmindedly running her fingers along her collarbone. Fenris detected her slight shift towards him but did not bring attention to it.  
  
"You're a believer then?" inquired Fenris to Sebastian, feeling the tension between himself and Hawke as the space between them shrunk with each passing moment.   
  
"Yes, I am promised to the Chantry. The Maker welcomes all into his arms though, birds and wolves alike." Fenris gave a small laugh at Sebastian's answer. "What is it you believe?"  
  
"I have not given the concept much thought. Where I am from, religion is...discouraged." Fenris frowned and stroked the side of his glass with his thumb as he spoke.  
  
"You are welcome in the Chantry any time if you venture to give the matter further contemplation," smiled Sebastian. Hawke made a huffing noise and turned her attention to the dance floor behind her. Fenris kept the conversation going with Sebastian for some time; ignoring her for a moment would bait her he thought. While they spoke, Hawke sipped her whiskey and moved in her seat to the rhythm of the music. Fenris continued to glance her way often enough but grew concerned when she stopped returning the gesture as the time passed.

With a quick movement she finished her drink and interrupted them mid-sentence, "If you'll excuse me, I want some air."

Sebastian wasted no time in rising from the seat so she could scoot the distance out of the booth. She did not acknowledge either of them as she headed to the back exit, "and I thought her mood had lifted, that's disappointing," Sebastian commented as he reclaimed his seat with a shrug.  
  
"Mood?" inquired Fenris, concerned that he had lost his opportunity, and eager to learn anything about the woman that would give him an advantage.   
  
"Hawke is," Sebastian paused, "a capable woman. She carries the weight of many on her shoulders, so it is natural that occasionally her usually charming and sarcastic humor becomes clouded. I feel we ask too much sometimes, not that she would give us another option."  
  
"We?"  
  
Sebastian laughed in acknowledgment. "Yes, our merry band of deviants, of which Hawke is our fearless leader. Her brother Carver sits at the far corner of the bar from here and sitting with him is Merrill. Let's see, who else," he said as he scanned the room. "Varric and Anders," he gestured with the tip of his water bottle towards the short man chatting with a blonde in a man-bun. "I don't see Aveline, she must be on duty - a city guard, and Isabella is currently in the DJ booth putting her hands towards more meaningful pursuits." Fenris glanced around with each introduction before settling on the gypsy woman writhing to the music behind the turntable. "Now if you'll excuse me, it's late, and I need to head back." Sebastian rose from the table but turned to Fenris before leaving, "we are here most nights; you should feel free to join us in future." He gave Fenris a tap on his shoulder and turned to leave.  
  
Fenris sipped his drink in silence as he watched Sebastian bid his goodbyes and descend the glass stairs, lost to the sea of the crowd. He sighed as he returned his focus to the empty table and evaluated his next move. His stomach rolled against his building anxiety. He was capable but had no band of friends relying on him. He did not trust quickly, if at all; people were a means to an end. The thought of needing a mage disgusted him, but what better way to combat a mage than with another. He required Hawke, and if the only way to peak her interest were through playing her flirtation game, then he would oblige. He could stomach sex with a mage for one night if it brought him closer to success. Besides, he thought to himself, she is stunning, and if it got out of hand, he could always steal her heart.

Confidence bolstered, he stalked to the rooftop exit. As he approached the door, he adjusted the collar of his black button up shirt and pushed his rolled sleeves closer to his elbow, leaving more of his full body tattoos exposed on his forearms. He noticed their faint glow of blue as he pushed against the door, but continued outside, feeling her before he saw her. He stopped and took the time to drink in her form. She was standing with her back to him, leaning against the edge of the rooftop patio with her hips pushed back, and her arms splayed out to support her weight. The stiletto heels she wore made the round of her ass that much more prominent as her long hair, dark as the night, danced with the breeze just above her slim waist. She was beautiful, perhaps unnaturally so and she was alone. He felt relieved as he strode up to her right and leaned on his side against the ledge.  
  
"You should know better than to sneak up on a dangerous apostate," she chided without looking at him, her voice a mixture of ice and honey.  
  
"We both know I did no such thing; you enchanted the door and knew I was coming the moment I touched it." She pushed herself to stand straight and pivoted to draw closer to him, eyeing him shrewdly.  
  
"What do you want Messere Fenris?" her face inches from his.  
  
"Do you refer to this evening or long term?" he asked teasingly, willing their game to continue. Hawke made a sound that he could not decide if it was more a purr or a growl, but it sent a pulse through his limbs nonetheless. She turned to face the street again but did not increase her distance. Disappointed she had not taken the bait, he considered that maybe Sebastian had been right, she did seem lost in thought. Perhaps it was not the best night to engage her, but he was running out of time and had little choice. Undaunted he decided to try again with a little less cheek. "There is a...personal matter with which I could use some assistance."  
  
"The Blooming Rose might be a better resource for any issues you have." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye; the game continued.  
  
"I would much prefer present company for those endeavors." He brought his hand just off the edge of hers but did not touch. Noting she did not move away, he continued. "A mutual acquaintance suggested I seek out Hawke and Company in their residence at the Hanged Man; he implied my offer would be warmly received."  
  
"And just what is that offer?" She shifted to her side to face him and trailed her fingers over his hand and up his arm before coming to rest on his chest. He had anticipated her touch and braced himself for it, but was pleasantly surprised at the assertiveness and warmth radiating from her. He could not remember a time when contact from a Mage had not sent him into agonizing pain as they ignited the Lyrium of his tattoos against his will. If she noticed what coursed through his markings, she hid it well and did not attempt to pull it from him; Hawke hadn't even traced the lines with her finger as she moved. The sensation was foreign and distracting as he tried to focus on his task.  
  
"I have a shadow following me that I cannot shake with any success on my own." He slid his hand up hers until it crested on her shoulder and he pushed her hair behind her before bringing his hand to rest on her elbow.  
  
"I always liked shadows," she teased as her knee bent slightly and began to skim along his inner thigh.  
  
"Perhaps yours is benevolent and mischievous; mine is vengeful and combative." He parted his legs a bit to give her more room to maneuver and brought his face closer to hers. The heat in his core pulsed as he enjoyed their proximity more than he should.  
  
"And what would you have us do to help rid you of this temperamental pest?" She tilted her head slightly to the side and up which exposed the length of her neck. Her adjustment gave him a much better view as his eyes followed the curve of her pale skin down to her arch of her full breasts.  
  
"I understand that your 'band of deviants' I believe Sebastian called you all, are quite skilled at pest control and disposal." He brought his hand from her elbow up to her neck and thumbed the line of her jaw. "I would also like to see if your threat from earlier has any merit." His voice dripped like warm caramel, and he could feel the flutter of her knee against his thigh.  
  
"What time frame do we have for this adventure?" She gave him a sly smile as she rolled her pelvis into his, and tilted her head back.  
  
He grabbed the back of her neck with his free hand to force her closer to his lips as a growl escaped him and he answered, "two days." She made that noise again, and Fenris felt the warmth in his core erupt into a fire in his veins.  
  
"I'll need to discuss it with my 'deviants, ' but I'm sure we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement." Her nose brushed against the tip of his giving him all the encouragement he needed. He renewed his grip on the back of her neck, taking more of her hair in his hand as he brought his lips down on hers. They were like warm silk sheets after a night of passion, and he wanted to taste her. She shifted her weight and stood straight to gain leverage to return the force of his kiss, pressing her chest into his as her hands floated to his hips and one finger from each hand curled into the top of his waistband. He parted his mouth and let the tip of his tongue dance along with her bottom lip as he adjusted his approach.

With a faint whine, she invited his tongue into her mouth. She tasted like apples and whiskey, not a bad combination he decided as her tongue began to twirl around his. He took his other hand and grabbed her around the waist to pull her tighter. With the inertia of his movement, her tongue skimmed along his until it flicked the roof his mouth and dragged back against his teeth. The feeling sent a shudder up his spine. He bent his knees just enough to lower himself so that the buckle of his belt pressed below her navel, hungrily. She let out a breathy moan as she balled his shirt in her hands and pushed him away breaking their kiss.  
  
"As enjoyable as this is," she grabbed him, "my enchantment does not keep others away." She took a deep breath and ran her thumb across his lips, smearing the red left behind, as she took a step back. Her hands fell to her side as the door opened and Carver strolled out with Merrill's arm in his. Carver abruptly stopped when he saw his sister and gave Fenris an unmistakable glare.  
  
"Don't worry little brother; I was just leaving." She pivoted to walk away but stepped into Fenris so that her lips were against his ear as she spoke in a sultry whisper "speak with Varric and come find me in my office tomorrow. He has the address." With that she left him to go back inside, hips swaying as she strolled to the door, stopping briefly to kiss Merrill on her cheek, before disappearing into the haze of the club.  
  
Fenris did not know Carver well and assumed there must be some redeeming qualities for a sweet girl like Merrill to enjoy his company, but at the moment he did not care; he wanted to throttle the man where he stood. It took considerable effort to stifle the snarl he felt creeping on his face, as he marched to the door to find Varric and then a cold shower.


	2. Business Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has an 'enlightening' meeting with Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to Fenris past abuse as slave; implied non-consensual encounters.

Fenris paced. He liked pacing. If it could be a hobby, then it was his favorite. It gave him time to ruminate about conversations, strategies, and scenarios. That morning, his thoughts dwelled on the woman from the previous night: Marian Hawke, the Fereldan refugee, turned Lady Amell of Kirkwall nobility and mage. When Anso gave him the lead on where to find help, Fenris followed it diligently, not wanting a repeat debacle. His previous attempt to flush out Danarius had poorly ended with an empty locker in an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by mercenaries ordered to capture or kill him. He had barely made it out with his life. He needed help if he was going to be rid of his shadow of chains finally to be free. His muscles tensed at the thought and hope dared to swell in his chest.   
  
Everyone knew Hawke. She had a reputation for being efficient, and her magic was a public secret. Fenris had heard hushed stories of her power, and he did not trust her with it. She would be useful he reminded himself, Danarius and Hadriana were powerful as well. His stomach clenched unsatiated by the mixture of coffee and agitation. He wanted them dead, that vile witch and magister who had tortured him. They did it happily without any encouragement. Fenris needed to focus on his hate and the immediate retribution he would bring now that he had back up.

He stopped pacing and glanced at his phone again, quarter till eleven. It would have to do; he could not wait any longer. He triple-checked the address Varric had given him. It was residential and not five minutes walk from the mansion in which he was squatting, abandoned by Danarius in his flight after their last encounter. Fenris took his time making the journey, willing himself to a calm veneer with each step. Their exchange was more than flirting with a random stranger, he needed her to be interested and compliant, and he would use every trick of his charm to ensure Danarius’ death. Reminding himself that Hawke was a tool to be used just like any other, he pursed his lips in determination and knocked on her door.  
  
"Greetings, Serah," a man who appeared more a merchant than a butler answered after several moments.   
  
"I am here to see Mistress Hawke,” Fenris made every effort to appear refined and worthy of patronage to the home.   
  
"Right this way, Serah," the butler said with a smile that traveled to his eyes sincerely.   
  
The man led Fenris through a foyer that looked strikingly similar to his own. Their shared neighborhood apparently belonged to a strict planning association as the floor plans differed only slightly. He thought his home larger until the short man led him down a back hallway. What Hawke's lacked in upfront grandeur it made up for in twisting passages with rooms flanking the sides, the decor dark but refined. They walked for a time before the butler stopped at a large double wood door with enormous brass handles.   
  
"Wait here Serah, please." The man knocked twice, waited till the count of three, and opened the door only enough to gain passage before closing it behind him. It seemed like an eternity before the man emerged again, this time holding the door wide and ushering Fenris inside.  
  
"My lady will be with you shortly; please make yourself comfortable," the man left closing the door behind him.  
  
Fenris was in awe in the space he assumed was her office, but it was more like a giant studio than anything else. It had a two-story ceiling but was split down the middle with a loft over one-half of the room. Whereas the rest of the house had dark walls and ornate coverings, the office was like another world: an expanse of cream, white, and earth tones. It was ethereal with light flooding in from the floor-to-ceiling gothic windows that looked out onto a high walled courtyard. There was an assortment of lamps and sconces on almost every surface for use when the sun's light dipped. A large fireplace with intricate plaster carvings took up the middle portion of the wall to his right, flanked by bookshelves and crowned with a stunning scene he guessed was reminiscent of Ferelden to have such a high honor in her home. A sofa that could comfortably fit ten people sat positioned in front of the fire.   
  
Beyond it, under the loft, was a small kitchen, table, and a lower door that he assumed led to a bathroom. He could not see the contents of the Loft but believed it to hold more of the same: books, art, maps, and perhaps a large wooden desk. He could hear soft instrumental music playing but could not place the artist. A beverage cart stood a few feet to his left and seemed well stocked and fresh, so he helped himself to a water bottle and walked around perusing the framed art and pictures, trying to collate the hard and assertive woman from the night before with the soft, feminine space she seemed to adore.  
  
As he drew closer to the windows, he could hear the padding of feet on pavement followed by loud grunting and the slapping of wood. He scanned the immediate area outside the office but found no origin, so he followed the paver stones down a path that led to a turn. There he peered around the corner to discover the source of the noise and found Hawke sparring with a large assortment of kick pads, dummies, and poles. She carried a large staff and swung it with ease as if it were just an extension of her, as natural as an arm. As she worked through her forms, Fenris could not help but stare, enraptured.

She wore loose black shorts that rolled at her waist, tied at her hip, and tucked under her knees with silver ribbons. He recalled seeing a similar style of pants amongst the Fog Warriors on the jungle island of Seheron, the garment being all one piece that wrapped and folded into whatever the user required. She wore no shoes or shirt, just a red sports bra of dubious design with many interlaced straps. Her hair was triple plaited from the crown of her head and hung down her back like a rope. The wisps of hair that escaped the braid, plastered to her skin from the sweat of her workout.  
  
He watched her as she danced with her invisible partner. She was too aggressive, still working through her mood from the previous night he thought as he leaned against the wall with his arms folded to watch her display. He observed as she ducked and weaved around the various obstacles, still graceful despite her laden footing. Her thrusts and jabs carried on roaring shouts as she pummeled her sparring dummies into submission. She was breathing quickly, and the sweat dripped in her eyes, but still, she worked, occasionally pausing to twirl her staff around like a ribbon.

Chimes began to ring in the distance from the Chantry bells signaling half past the hour, and it seemed to rouse her from her meditation. She brought her staff down with a thud against the pavement and gripped it tightly as she controlled her breathing. He could see the white of her knuckles and imagined she must have exercised great restraint not to snap the pole in two. Finally, she placed the staff back on its rack and reached for her towel and water bottle. Then suddenly, without warning and without opening her eyes, she spun around, lifting a knee to her chest in the rotation before kicking her leg out on the spiral.   
  
Fenris half expected lightning to arc from her foot as she had threatened, but was shocked when a fireball erupted instead and hurled towards a corkscrew topiary sending it up in flames. He had thought her threat hollow; he had never seen a mage wield magic like that without a staff. Yes, Danarius could do small things with a snap of his fingers but never anything like this. Fenris's shock sounded in his throat and hearing the noise, Hawke immediately dropped her outstretched leg, waved snow onto the topiary to quash the flames, and turned to face him.   
  
"What manner of mage are you? What is it that you seek?" he asked in the calmest voice he could muster. He could feel his rage building, and he did his best to keep his lyrium in check, he did not want to reveal the contents of his markings in case she had not noticed. He knew his reaction was unwarranted, he had sought her out for this exact purpose after all, but a part of him felt betrayed for reasons he could not yet explain.   
  
"I'll let you figure that out for yourself," she teased as she jutted out her hip and rested a hand on it, a smile ever present.   
  
"You are skilled. I know that much," Fenris replied, struggling to maintain his equanimity. His contemplation quickly switched to general curiosity and confusion as she raised her hands above her head and made a circle shape with them, holding the pose for a moment.  
  
"Zero - Fenris. You get zero marks for that observation. Everyone knows I'm amazing even if they don't know I am a mage. Try again, and if you're very good, I'll reward you with lunch."  
  
He focused on her trying to assess her intentions. She was still playing their game, but he had reservations. A mage with that much power was more than dangerous. He considered his answer for a moment - it would be the truth, but it could be a risk to inflate her ego. "Your ability rivals that of the strongest Magisters Tevinter has ever seen." The risk would be worth the reward of victory and if not then they would both be dead, and it would not matter.  
  
"Well then," she dropped her arms unceremoniously and looked at him for an unnecessarily long time. After a pause, she seemed to regain her composure and asked, "I usually eat a light lunch. Do you like hummus?"  
  
"I won't refuse," he tried to sound charming.   
  
"Great, I'll let Bodahn know and freshen up while we wait. You can make yourself at home in the office, but I ask that you do not go up to the loft." He pondered her unusual request as he followed her. He assumed nothing sinister; it would be difficult to hide the taint of blood magic in an open area surrounded by stainable colors.  
  
Once back inside he watched as she seemed to glide across the room towards the door under the loft. When she opened it, he could see the flash of a large marble bathroom before it receded again in the reflection of the floor length mirror as she pushed the door to close behind her. To his uneasiness the door did not close all the way, a foot wide gap remained without her notice. He shuffled his feet and looked down as he saw her bare back appear in the mirror.   
  
He knew he should just move, as not to be in the line of sight, but the taste of apples and whiskey filled his memory, and he raised his head to see her flick her wrist at her hip to send the black cloth floating down to the floor around her feet. The swell of heat in his core cemented him in place as the pale snow of her ample bare ass filled his vision, and he watched her bring a hand up one side and palm a cheek while the other hand reached high in a stretch. He felt his mouth fall open a bit at the sight of her lean muscles pulled taut in the bright lights of the bathroom. It was then that she rotated in the stretch and he saw the form of her pert breast as she twisted her body. His eyes roved over her smooth skin and took into memory how well proportioned she was.  
  
"Enchantment!"  
  
An odd-looking young man called out from the door to the hallway, the butler running up behind him. Fenris cringed at the sound knowing he was not the only one that heard it. As the unmuffled voice carried to the bathroom, Hawke looked up to see the door was still ajar. Fenris expected her to be outraged and he groaned at the thought of an explanation that would suffice, but she merely looked at him through her reflection and smirked as she slowly turned around to let him see her properly.   
  
Her legs, closed with one knee bent into the other, were long and lean but muscular like a dancer. She rested one hand on the front of her thigh, and he could see an inviting shadow inches from her thumb. Her abdomen curved inwards from her hips and he remembered the feel of his arm wrapped around her waist. Her breasts were like two perfectly molded raindrops and their expanse extended beyond the sides of her chest; one raised higher due to her other hand holding her hair up off her neck. Seemingly satisfied that he had enough time to drink her in, she licked her lips and pushed the door closed the rest of the way.   
  
Fenris realized his trousers were uncomfortably tight and he was starving. He decided that helping Bodahn prepare the lunch was better than remaining in the room and so ran out after him. He tried to focus as he followed the butler along the many corridors that led to the kitchen but lost his bearings quickly, too focused on chiding himself for willingly fantasizing about a mage twice within one day. He had slept with mages before, but never at his choosing, and it always involved varying degrees of intense pain. Her touch had been entirely different though, benign even. He shook his head deliberately to remove the images from his mind and gave attention to his path.   
  
Once in the kitchen, he busied himself with helping Bodahn prepare the lunch. Encumbered with a substantial food tray and return directions, Fenris made the trek back to Hawke's office hoping that she would have finished in the bathroom and be fully dressed, a Magi Circle's robes would be perfect, but unlikely he thought. The door to the office was still open, and Fenris walked in carefully maneuvering the space so as not to drop or spill the tray.   
  
"Oh let me help you with that," came her voice from behind him and then she stepped into his obscured view and took the tray.   
  
"Thank you."  
  
Fenris could hear her setting the tray on the kitchen table, but he kept his eyes on the herringbone wood floor. He knew he should look up, he had a role to play and had already secured her assistance. He tried to think of what to say to smooth over the embarrassment of being caught leering when shame settled in his stomach at his growing desire to touch her again. Only a slave keeps their head down, he scolded himself, but still, he could not will himself to look at her until two sets of brightly painted toes appeared in front of his shoes, and he felt a gentle finger under his chin.  
  
"I'm sure my floors have many secrets to divulge, but I would rather share them with you myself if you don't mind." She raised his head up to meet her eyes.   
  
She had redressed herself, wearing khaki shorts and a white, v-neck tank top that hugged her curves. A soft cream bra strap just barely visible on the edge of her shoulder. When at last Fenris' eyes met hers, they took his breath away with their radiant blue. He could not see how remarkable they were in the dark of the club and had been too distracted in the courtyard, but in the light of her office, it was like looking into the depth of the sea. He had no words to respond and so just looked at her, hoping to make the moment last as long as possible.

She smiled at him and leaned up to kiss the edge of his lips as her hand cupped his cheeks, "let's eat; I'm starving." He followed her to where she had set the table for them to eat taking a seat on one end. She served him a sampling of the lunch and poured him a glass of red wine before choosing a place herself. "I believe we have business to discuss, and if there is one thing I have learned from my time in Kirkwall, it is that the best discussions result when alcohol flows." She raised her glass to toast to him, "to a beneficial endeavor, health, and lasting friendship," and with a wink, she sipped her wine. Fenris raised his glass to her and took a healthy swig, finding the taste on his tongue familiar but difficult to place. He swirled the dry red in his mouth searching its palette for answers.  
  
"You referred to the Tevinter Imperium in your quest to earn lunch. I believe my choice of wine pairs well with your experience. They say that Tevinter makes its wine from the tears of its slaves, and although I abhor the idea, I must admit that Agreggio Pavali is the most delicious wine I have ever tasted. I took the liberty of rescuing several crates from a slaver company I found roaming the Wounded Coast." He smiled behind his glass as he nodded his head to be polite. She had no way of knowing how accurate her words cut he reminded himself. Still, he could not help but feel soured by the exchange and wanted nothing more at that moment than to hurl the bottle against her cream walls and watch the blood red wine drip down to stain the floor.  
  
"Fenris...," she called to him, and he realized it was not the first time as an odd warming sensation hit him again, "are you alright?"  
  
He took a deep breath to refocus on the task at hand: plans to kill Danarius; his heartache would have to wait. "Yes, I am well, thank you. Forgive me; I was lost in thought for a moment enjoying your fine selection, you have my gratitude."   
  
She examined him, and he got the distinct impression she could see right through him. "Varric filled me in on the broader aspects of your proposed venture, and I believe you mentioned a two-day deadline, so it seems that tonight will be our best opportunity. You have not left us much time to prepare, but my crew has worked with less. Perhaps you could offer the finer details of your master plan."  
  
"Of course," he replied.   
  
Over their extended lunch, Fenris gave her as much information he felt she would need without revealing any more than necessary, skirting around his status and the value that his flayed skin held. By the fourth chime of the Chantry Bells, two bottles of wine set empty on the table, but they had a solid strategy that catered to their strengths and covered their weaknesses. When they parted ways, agreeing to meet at the rendezvous at midnight, he felt confident victory would be theirs. With his mood lifted, the return trip to the dilapidated mansion found Fenris in a much better frame of mind than when he had left that morning. Everything was in place, and he was sure that by the rise of the sun the following day he would never need to look over his shoulder again. When he pushed passed the front door and stepped over the decaying bodies littering the floor, he set to the task of preparing his weapons.

He counted them individually and then sorted them by type, the last of his stolen stock form his time with the Fog Warriors. In exchange for food and shelter in the first days of his flight from his Master, Fenris had helped them disrupt the trade routes and supply lines of both the Qun and the Imperium whose war had spilled onto their ancestral lands. While the Imperium had superiority in number and monetary backing, the Qunari were excellent weaponsmiths and herbalists who had recently figured out how to infuse mage-bane, a magic nullifying poison, into a sealed tip on a hollow point bullet, thereby shifting the tide of the war in their favor. Fenris had been fortunate to stumble upon the advancement having had to dig one out of Danarius’ arm during the Magister’s hasty retreat.

As he held the bullet out in front of him, rolling it between his fingers, Fenris dreamed of the day he could place it back into the Magister’s body, along with a few more. The delight in knowing the cruel Slaver would die without the ability to call forth his most sacred possession pumped boldly through Fenris’ veins. The poison was usually clear, but against the casing of the bullet, it had a soft blue tint. He growled and fisted the round in his palm as the delight coursing through him turned to anger, but not as expected. The anger that pulsed within did not lash out at the mage whose eyes held a similar shimmer of blue or the power she wielded. Instead, it resounded against the idea that someone could use its effects against her.

Fenris' markings ignited, and he let them pulse unchecked for several moments before he hurriedly stuffed the bullet in his pant’s pocket and marched out onto the landing of the second floor. He tore a piece of the banister away from its supports and began to swing it around as if it were a sword. He went through his fighting forms in sequence, dancing from one room to another slicing and weaving through the air. Every part of the mansion became an imaginary foe to vanquish. A grandfather clock became Danarius, the pendulous chimes his bolts of magic. Fenris struck hard until the crashing sounds of a stunted disjunct melody filled the hall. A sizeable decorative mask took the role of the infused lyrium he could not excise from himself. Fenris ignited his markings and reduced the art to fragmented rubble, no longer recognizable to its original form.

A half-collapsed bookcase came next, each unreadable tome reminding him of a laugh, a smile, and a compliment from Hawke. One by one he took the books, chucked them in the air and swung at them hard with this pretend sword. Over and over again the books flew until the hall snowed with loose pages. Only when Fenris was ankle deep in the destroyed text did he drop his pretense and sink to his shins breathing heavily. He could not shake the image of her smile from his mind nor the feel of her hands across his chest. They were familiar to him as if from a dream he could not remember.

Fenris looked at his watch and counted the remaining time: six hours; he groaned. He would need to wash, eat, and pack but at the most, it would take an hour to accomplish, that left him with five hours to fill. Throwing his head forward he pushed up from the floor and made his way to the bedroom, the large four poster bed in the corner would serve for a rest. Fenris stripped of his clothes, set the alarm on his watch, and crawled under the plush covers to claim a few hours of calm before the impending storm.

Fenris hated the Fade and his connection to it. Demons did not hunt him as they did mages but they still delighted in his torment. Often they would take the forms of a life he knew he could never have. They would show him as a child, playing happily with a family. Other times he would be surrounded by friends laughing and drinking the evening away in bliss, or walking arm in arm with a woman, his lover, who would hold him and whisper her devotion in his ear. Always faceless they were, without names or definitive features; an essence of a person with just enough form to ignite the hope he harbored in the farthest reaches of his heart.

Eventually, his dreaming mind would dare question the interaction; the dream would spin and turn dark until the demons replayed a scene that was all too real. Fenris was a light sleeper by habit, and once the dream took a form resembling his waking life, he would wake with a start, sweating, panting, and shattered. In his time with the Fog Warriors, he learned that imbibing enough alcohol would dull his senses and the demons assault; Fenris had taken to drinking enough to ensure this state each night. The bottles he shared with Hawke over lunch left hardly any residual alcohol in his system by the time he laid down, but it was enough to last him the length of a short nap he had hoped. When the alarm on his wrist beeped out at half-past ten o’clock, Fenris slapped the button with sweaty fingers and a lingering feeling of loss. He had heard people were not supposed to remember their time in the Fade, but he always did and with an added touch of cruelty, the demons this time had given his dream companions faces and form.

A sister had red hair and green eyes to match his while a mother had hair of a darker brown shade with similarly colored eyes. The sister was younger than he and shorter; he could feel her as he rested his chin on her head when she ran up to hug him; the mother looked on adoringly. A shift in the dream brought him to a coastal edge overlooking the deep blue of an expansive sea. The demons gave his lover the perfect replication of Hawke complete with husky voice and smirk on her full lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her nose against his, purring as she had done on the roof patio the evening prior. He had not questioned it, merely melting into her embrace and pulling her to him. She smelled of citrus and wore clothes that comfortably threadbare and baggy. The entire scene screamed to his senses of normality, domesticity, and intimacy.

Fenris cherished each passing moment until Hawke suddenly flicked her fingers and began pulling the lyrium from him. It was that moment and not the false familiarity that made him question the dream and sent the demons reeling as they lashed against his betrayal. He fought the pain as Hawke cackled like Hadriana and felt he was sure to succumb to the torment but for the beeping that pulled him back to the waking world. Fenris rubbed his face with his hands and made his way to the bathroom to rinse with cold water, drowning the images with each splash until he was calm once more. He looked at his face in the mirror and steeled himself for the coming storm.


	3. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris, Hawke & Co. fight for Fenris's freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to Ms_Saboteur for leaving such an encouraging and lovely comment, my first one! Also, thank you to NorthernAurora for bookmarking not only this piece but my other as well.
> 
> Your feedback and positive validation is what sustains and feeds the creative muse.  
> (｡♥‿♥｡)

"Okay - now that we're all here," Hawke, standing at the head of the table, shot an eye roll to Isabella who sauntered in late. Isabella gave a face of mock surprise and hurt before settling into one of the large chairs in Varric's private office. "Introductions are in order. Everyone - this is Fenris. He has a job for us tonight that involves pest control in a slave den. Fenris - I believe you already acquainted with Varric, but tonight you will meet his better half, Bianca. Watch out for her; she's feisty." Hawke shot a wink to Varric, who only laughed in response.   
  
Fenris regarded the short man with reddish blonde hair and an almost vulgar v-neck shirt exposing a forest of chest hair. He had liked Varric well enough when they spoke the previous night. He seemed to have a good head for business, and if Hawke was fire and passion, Varric was calm and calculating. They made good partners, and it was no wonder he was considered her gatekeeper. Fenris caught Varric giving him a sidelong glance, and it gave him the feeling that he was under evaluation. Fenris shifted in his seat, mildly uncomfortable at the scrutiny. Hawke moved on to a substantial woman sitting to Varric's left.  
  
"This is Aveline, her shotgun and S.W.A.T. training will serve as our front line. If you step out of line, her waggling finger will guide you back forcefully."  
  
"Hawke!" the woman yelled with a disapproving glare. Fenris chuckled to himself imagining the woman's restraint not to shake a finger at her leader. Hawke knew her companions well, and they seemed to adore her.  
  
"She's not the only front line defense." A man Fenris immediately disliked now barked at Hawke. Fenris scowled to himself as he equated Carver with a petulant child. He did not want this man's assistance believing him more likely to screw things up than contribute.  
  
"He's an ass, but he's my brother, and when push comes to shove, he is capable. With such short notice, it would be better to have all hands available." Hawke whispered in Fenris’ ear while Carver and Aveline debated the finer points of their craft. Fenris could not argue with her logic and relaxed his shoulders a bit to show his acquiescence. "Carver shut up and be happy you're invited at all. I doubt the Templars would be excited to hear you still moonlight with our company." She had a new tone in her voice that seemed to signal she meant business. She was decisive and direct when necessary, and Fenris shifted in his seat again when he realized he was staring, impressed by her.

"The lovely spirit next to him is Merrill. She's a mage, sometimes blood is involved but we try to keep that in check don't we darling?" The petite brunette blushed and buried her head into Carver's shoulder.   
  
"You consort with blood mages?" Fenris gave a low growl on his words as he clenched his fist and shot Hawke a look. He had done as much homework on her as time had allowed, but some information proved more closely guarded than others.  
  
She seemed ready for his reaction as she placed a hand on her hip, "Oh, you don't know the half of it," she snorted as she gestured to the blonde with a man bun wearing a ridiculous feathered jacket seated next to Merrill. "Anders here is also a mage and our main healer who just happens to play host to a spirit of Justice. His skin crackles blue when Justice begins to take over though, so we have plenty of warning,” she added as if that made the mage’s collusion with a spirit completely acceptable.  
  
"Do you have a problem with mages, little wolf?" accused Anders with a such a snotty tone Fenris wanted to reach across the table and yank the spirit from him.  
  
"He does," Hawke interjected in a strong defensive voice before Fenris could respond, "our targets are a Tevinter Magister and his apprentice." The group's eyes went wide at her announcement, and a low murmur spread amongst the table as they spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves.   
  
"I for one will be glad to assist. These wild mages with their unchecked power must be brought to heel." Sebastian's voice carried over the murmur bringing it to an end. Merrill looked disappointed, and her lip pouted slightly at his words. Anders shifted in his seat and cracked his knuckles as if to dare the man to try anything.  
  
"Oh, I do love your strong moral code, Sebastian. It will be that much more rewarding when I finally bend you over my knee." Isabella giggled as she lunged for Sebastian and embraced him in a hug that forced his head into her large, mostly exposed breasts. His arms went wild for a moment trying to exculpate himself without touching her before he resigned to endure and let her have her fun. The interlude seemed to break the tension and Fenris was not entirely sure that she had not done it on purpose.  
  
"Baty is a mid-range fighter with ninja skills, and Isabella is a dual wielding siren of the seas." Isabella looked up at Hawke's words, and her face lit up at the compliment as she released Sebastian.  
  
"And Hawke is our elemental mage who shoots ice from her eyes, fire from her hands and lightning out her ass." Isabella extended her arms out to Hawke as if displaying a new toy. Hawke just shook her head and laughed, before taking a small bow. Fenris began to wonder how the group accomplished anything with all the levity they enjoyed.  
  
"What about you Fenris?" Merrill surprised everyone when she spoke. Fenris felt their attention shift to him in an awkward silence. He had not mentioned to either Hawke or Varric exactly how he would contribute to the fight and certainly did not want to do so now that two more mages were present.  
  
"I am usually first response with an assault rifle and various handguns. I also have grappling and hand-to-hand combat training." The last part had not been a lie just a vague reference to his ability to rip the heart from a man's chest.  
  
"Sounds like you will be a benefit if things get tight." Aveline nodded to him in approval. "I would suggest Carver, and I take the lead, as usual, we know our dynamic and how best to respond. Fenris if you wouldn't mind being our backup and rear guard, I will feel better for our periphery defense knowing you are watching their backs."  
  
"Oh, he can watch my back anytime."   
  
"Shut it, whore! You are not ranged." Aveline shot a glare at Isabella.  
  
The meeting continued in much the same pattern as Aveline poured over the plan Hawke and Fenris presented. She was tediously thorough, and Fenris could feel his patience thinning. He did not care who stood where, how many potions they packed, or how many spare clips of ammo were available; he just wanted to get started already so that he could watch the life drain from Danarius eyes. Fenris's eyes narrowed and his brow creased as he replayed the fantasy in his head, trying to drown out the woman's incessant chatter.  
  
"Follow me," Hawke leaned down and placed a hand on Fenris's arm as she whispered to him. He gave a slight nod in acknowledgment and then stood to follow her out of the room, down the hall, and into what appeared to be an oversized storage closet. It was utterly dark when she closed the door behind them until she snapped her fingers and a ball of flame appeared in her hand. She cupped it in her palms and rotated as if molding clay. When she opened her palms again, the flame was a solid sphere of light filling the closet, cool to the touch. With a small push of her fingers, the orb rose just above their heads and floated in the air.  
  
"I know you are eager, and it can be frustrating to listen to Aveline when she drones on, but you are hiding something. " Fenris felt his heart skip a beat as he looked at Hawke, unsure of her plans. "I have no intention of using you as a mana pool, and I doubt Anders or Merrill even realize what is coursing through your skin, each probably thinks the energy is coming from Justice or myself. But those tattoos aren't just conduits, and if you plan on using whatever...skill, they provide I would appreciate it if you could show me now rather than in the middle of a fight. Know that I will keep your secret, and if they even think about touching you, I will put them in their place without hesitation."  
  
Fenris was no longer sure if Hawke referred to the other mages or Danarius. He looked at her, in silence, for several moments trying to gauge her sincerity. Her companions trusted her, the city relied on her, and she knew what it meant to keep a secret. He felt the warmth that always seemed to accompany her and relinquished that he too trusted her despite himself. "You are correct. These tattoos are pure lyrium and the reason that Danarius hunts me."  
  
"Your training didn't come from any military or private forces; you were a weapons slave. Danarius is a high ranking official with the luxury of relaxed supervision, so the parameters of your assigned duty blurred under his command. Correct me if I'm wrong." Fenris could only shake his head in disbelief of how much she already knew, or at least, guessed. "I apologize."  
  
Fenris's eyes shot open wide in confusion and terror that she would back out of their agreement. He was so close; it had been months of dead ends before he got the tip from Anso. He couldn't wait any longer. Instinctively he grasped Hawke's arms, digging his fingers into her supple flesh. His grip, no doubt, hurt her and would leave bruises, but he did not care. "No!" he yelled, unable to withhold the panic in his voice.  
  
For her part, Hawke did not wince at his touch and did not look scared or even surprised at his reaction. "Fenris, I am not backing out on you. I will help you rid yourself of these shadows and anything else you request. I am apologizing for playing with you earlier. I should have caught on sooner, but I was being selfish and having fun. My words and actions were insensitive at best and barbaric at worst. I wanted you to know that before we left."  
  
Fenris grip only lessened a bit as he took in her apology. He had never seen a mage apologize and despite understanding his singular view of her kind was jaded at the very least, he was still not sure how to respond. His breathing that had become fast and shallow in his panic began to slow, and his eyes started to take in her entire expression. She was smiling meekly and patiently waiting for him to feel comfortable again. When finally his grip let her loose, he hung his head, overwhelmed by a surge of conflicting emotions. Her touch was soothing and gentle when she gingerly brushed her fingers through his hair. He swallowed, his throat dry, as he felt a craving for more run through him. He lifted his eyes to hers, still half expecting her to strike him and reveal her kindness to be a lie.  
  
"You do not have to trust me, but I wish you would," she spoke softly on a tender breath. Her fingers traced the line of Fenris' jaw to where the tattoos began on his chin, and as her thumb and forefinger rested there, he realized that if she knew what his markings held, then she had purposefully not touched them on the patio. If she had wanted to pull from him, she would have done it, and he would have been powerless to stop her. In the comfort of knowing she could and would continue to restrain herself, he did not move or push her away.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath; Fenris felt a chill roll over his skin. She was not pulling energy from him, instead, giving it to him. His markings glowed in response, but she did not open her eyes to look, she just kept sending wave after wave of palliative magic until Fenris felt weak in his knees. He wanted to cry but not from pain, for the first time since receiving the markings, there was no pain to feel. Slowly the waves became less intense until they finally stopped altogether. As Hawke opened her eyes and smiled at him, Fenris felt the urge to hold her and not let go. When her hand began to drop from his chin, he swiftly grabbed it in his and pulled her close as he wrapped his other hand around her waist.   
  
"How did you do that?" he asked as he brought his face an inch from hers.  
  
"Magic is dangerous, you have seen that. But it also can heal and renew. I would like to show you that aspect if you would let me." Her tone was cautious but inviting.  
  
"I...I would like that," the words came out with so little effort that Fenris was not sure it had been he that spoke. His body should have been screaming in agony at his proximity to a mage. He should have taken her heart before she could spout more lies. He should have run and never stop, but his feet would not move. His heart wanted to remain, and his mind swam in the chaos of the internal conflict anchored only by her touch.   
  
"Do you think you could show me now?" her request came on a small unsteady voice. It was reassuring to know that she was nervous. Fenris released her hand and her waist, pushing her back a few steps as he did.  
  
"I will not harm you, but I cannot promise it will be comfortable." She nodded and braced herself for the unknown. Fenris took a calming breath and shrugged off his back holster securing his pair of pistols, laying them carefully at their feet. He then undid the straps holding his armored vest in place and set in on the floor with the weapons. Although her face remained neutral and passive, he had a distinct feeling that Hawke was confused and wondered how much more he would remove. “This is unnecessary, but it will give you a better understanding,” he offered.

Her eyes flashed, focusing harder on him for a moment as if searching for something, but then quickly relaxed seemingly satisfied. He moved slowly to pull the hem of his tight undershirt up and over his head, revealing the tan skin of his chiseled abs and the tattoo lines that swirled around them. He gave her credit for remaining stoic and resisting the urge to touch him or the lines, despite how much he would have liked her to do so. When he felt they were ready, he ignited the lyrium. A crisp, ice blue emanated from every delicate line and filled the closet space, instantly overpowering the yellow light from her orb. He raised his hand and placed it against her abdomen and with a final look to her for approval, he pushed through her armor and into her body. She gasped, and he halted until she nodded approval again. With the last breath, he gingerly continued and touched the bottom of her ribs. She looked down in shock as he retracted his arm and let the lyrium fade.

"Are you alright?" he asked when she did not look up. He was confident he had not damaged her, but the concern was palatable.   
  
"Yes. Yes, I...am fine," she struggled to speak, but her eyes met his with reverence and relief. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I will do all I can to make sure you don't have to use that unless you want to." Fenris found himself readily believing her as she helped him redress.  
  
They walked in silence back to the group to find everyone doing last gear checks. No one commented on their absence as they walked into the room, Hawke made her way over to Varric while Fenris stayed by the door surveying his newly acquired mercenaries; each seemed calm and steady. Hawke made a motion with her hands as she grabbed her bag and they all followed her out of the office, chatting amongst themselves. As they piled into the back of the tactical van parked in the alley, Varric climbed into the driver's seat while Hawke took her place in the passenger, Fenris made sure he sat as near to the separation cage, and her, as possible.

The drive was relatively quiet, their destination a remote area of the Wounded Coast ideal for concealing holding caves used by slavers. Despite being patrolled and monitored and slavery outlawed in most nations for the last century, or so, Tevinter’s avarice kept the holding caves occupied regularly. When they finally arrived, Aveline and Carver opened the back doors of the van and began a ready check, when Hawke came around the corner of the van Fenris did a double take. She had been wearing a long robe-style dress earlier but had discarded it in favor of a black tactical suit that clung to her body like a second skin from her neck to her feet. The material shimmered in the moonlight as if it were reflecting off glass; only the pale of her head and her fingers were visible. She wore a belt slung low on her hips filled with potions and tonics and her hair, which he had only seen down or in a braid, tightly coiled in a high bun like a ballerina.  
  
"Fenris, we have each been here before, but we will rely on you for guidance once inside. Since you are familiar with their strategies you should be able to sense them before any of us, we will rely on that few seconds warning as we proceed." She spoke in a calm and reassuring voice without any hesitation or concern. She might as well have been discussing picnic plans for the weekend. Fenris nodded, temporarily mute in her presence.  
  
Advancing into the caves revealed a change in their surroundings, from rough rock to smooth columns as the old Tevinter slave dens came into sharp relief. A noxious smell, a mix of sewage, blood, and death hit them with ferocity before they came across the first remnants of flesh. Everyone grabbed their noses to shield what they could, Isabella alone wretched while Sebastian held back her hair and Merrill patted soothing circles on her back. Anders pulled out a salve and passed it around for the group to put under their nose. It did not eliminate the odor, but it masked it enough so they could keep going. Fenris could feel the lingering effects of the blood magic used as they continued to pass mutilated bodies. He had almost forgotten how intense the feeling could be and his stomach churned as he walked.   
  
"Hawke!" Aveline yelled back, "someone's here." Hawke looked at Fenris searching for a warning, but he shook his head. He sensed no swell in magic or tinge of bloodletting; it was likely a slave not yet consumed. Hawke ran forward to find a young girl, thin and malnourished, crying and confused. Fenris's felt the rage rise within him, only partially listening as Hawke told the girl to make her way to the Amell Estate.   
  
"You're keeping slaves, now?" he almost spat as he said it, too consumed with hate and vengeance to think clearly.   
  
"I offered her a job, Fenris, as a paid housekeeper and assistant to Bodahn," Hawke answered dryly but not offended. The cold slap of her lack of surprise yanked his head clear, and he muttered a meek apology. Hawke nodded, and the group pressed forward to catch their prey.  
  
Eventually, the smell turned sweet, an indication of freshness, and the feeling in Fenris's gut intensified until he grabbed Hawke's arm in warning. She whistled low to Aveline, and everyone took ready positions. Hawke leaned into Fenris as they waited, "if it get's too dangerous, or we appear to be losing, I want you to run, take the van and don't look back," she whispered to him so that only he heard. Fenris opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head. "You are their prize, and if we cannot defeat them, then we shall take victory in knowing that we denied it to them." Fenris gave a single nod of his head.

With the last round of affirmation of roles and prep, Aveline and Carver burst through the doorway to catch their target off guard. A cacophony resounded in the chamber as gunfire clashed with armor and rock. Spells lit up the room like fireworks in celebration, shrilly bouncing off their marks. Hadriana threw up a guard spell, making herself untouchable as she summoned a throng of supporters: flesh, bone, and elemental. In the chaos, Hawke spun her staff with a flourish, using the whirl to knock opponents into Fenris range so he could grapple them to dust. When Shade demons rose, she switched to magic attacks while Fenris unleashed rounds from his assault rifle. Their attacks paired seamlessly, like a mythical beast with two halves lashing out from a shared core.

Fenris kept her in his sights at all times, ever wary of her lack of fear in close combat. When a demon rose behind her, he called out, and she tilted her head to allow him space for a well-timed shot that whizzed past her cheek without harm. She in turn yelled, and he dropped to a knee as she swung a charge of electricity over his head, the static pulling his hair up momentarily. No opponent had a hope of gaining the other hand as Hawke and Fenris danced around the chamber to the music of their attack; the gun blasts and spells created the bass and melody in turn.  
  
The group had been efficient, and quickly the battle wound down, leaving only Hadriana, pinned by Aveline and Carver. Fenris turned to walk towards the fray, focused on the anguish in the witch's face as she tried desperately to defend. Her death would not be the end, but it would be a significant step towards his freedom, and he focused on that feeling as he stowed his weapon, preferring to rip her heart from her chest. Fenris bent over to look at Hadriana; he had not seen her in so long. She was no longer a formidable apprentice, reduced to a sniveling, sweaty mess, with a distinct smell of urine soaking her clothes. When he reached back to ready himself for the attack, she called out for him to stop, offering information in exchange for her life.  
  
"You have a sister; she is alive!" Hadriana gasped as she pleaded for her life. Fenris fell backward and struggled to right himself, the breath stolen from his lungs. "You wish to reclaim your life, let me go, and I will tell you where she is."  
  
The panic surging through him was palatable. His heart froze, and mind reeled with memories of his dreams. A sister. The demons taunt had been true. The hope that he had stamped downtime and again clawed from within, desperate for release, warring with the rational thought that the witch was lying. His strength was fading; the markings flared brighter and erratic until a warmth encompassed him. Without looking, he knew Hawke stood at his side and as if in his head, he could hear her whisper instructions to breath. Once he did, his markings flared in unity once more.   
  
"This is your call," she encouraged. Fenris nodded and turned back to Hadriana.  
  
"So I have your word? I tell you, and you let me go?" confidence faltering on her question.  
  
"Yes, you have my word," replied Fenris as he leaned into her, hate dripping from each syllable as his tone dropped an octave and the gravel accentuated his words.   
  
Hadriana sighed in relief and recounted all the details Fenris would need to find his sister, most importantly that she was not a slave, but a servant in a good house. Fenris pulled back slightly as she finished and collected himself. With a deep breath, he ignited his lyrium but in a slow controlled release so that he could watch the fear in her eyes flicker in its glow. She knew what was coming and he relished in it. With a quick thrust, he plunged his fist into her chest, ensuring the most pain possible before her life drained. Once inside, he opened his fist and grasped her heart, squeezing with every bit of strength he could find, before yanking the muscle out of her. He expected her to collapse to the floor, but she lingered, wavering in the secure hold. Fenris looked down at the heart in his hands, the blood and sinew melting off the edges. She was not yet dead.   
  
He could hear the gasps for air and gurgle of blood in Hadriana's mouth, but then he heard another sound, from behind him. Fenris turned to see Hawke's teeth clenched, her arms outstretched with palms splayed wide. She focused on Hadriana, and with each breath Hawke took, her prey gurgled and sputtered anew. Suddenly Fenris realized what was happening: Hawke was extending Hadriana's life to delay the sweet release of death and pain. Hawke made Fenris's actions that much more cruel and intense, but instead of pleasure, Fenris felt angered. Angered that Hawke would be complicit in his lie, that he had corrupted her to torture. Desperate to bring it to an end he turned back to watch Hadriana but kept his words biting for Hawke, "we're done here." With that command, Hawke released her prey, and Hadriana's head slumped forward, her body limp in her captor's arms.  
  
Hawke reached out a hand to his shoulder, but Fenris quickly shrugged it away, "No, I don't want you comforting me! You saw what was done here. There will always be some reason, some excuse why mages need to do this. Even if I found my sister, who knows what the Magisters have done to her!" He turned away from her as he finished speaking, "what has magic touched that it doesn't spoil?" fully aware of the hate he spewed. He could hear a catch in Hawke's throat from behind him, and regret surged forward in his chest. "I...need to go," the only offer of apology he could give before he darted out of the room.   
  
Fenris ran until his lungs gave out and his feet could propel him no further. His mind raced as he crossed the dunes and fields between the cave and the city. He stayed off the main roads in case Hadriana had more men lurking along the route. The thought made him pause as he considered the safety of those he had left behind, but he kept going as he decided that they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, making short work of the caves and Hadriana.   
  
Fenris trudged forward until he came across a stream and sat down in the grass next to the water. He put his hands in and let the blood wash away with the current. As it swirled in the water, Fenris felt a twinge in his heart, and his breath stuttered and gasped. His throat ran dry, and tears filled his eyes. He felt adrift in the anxiety now filling his mind. Images of Hadriana, her heart, and Hawke's eyes flashed over and over in his head. Each like a lash of the whip with his hateful words adding sting to ripped flesh. He had meant what he said, he believed it to his core, but the thought that it would apply to Hawke made him want to vomit. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, and he needed to believe that she could be different.  
  
Fenris could not take the duality of his heart as his thoughts swirled incoherently. He was sweating now, but not from the run. Anxiety had taken control, and he grasped the ground desperate to cling to something firm as the world around him spun violently. Her memory broke through the chaos of his mind, her soft voice of apology and concern, her warmth, and the sweetness of apples on her tongue. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he struggled to keep his eyes open as he fell back onto the grass, feet planted with bended knee. The feel of the cold earth on his skin soothed his nerves, and he passed to sleep with thoughts of Hawke and an apology he would need - no want, to make.


	4. Indecision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris must return to the city and to Hawke. That proves easier said than done.

The morning sun blazed over the horizon and Fenris struggled to adjust his vision to the light as he woke. The smell of dew dripped grass and the feel of hard earth underneath him, reminded him of his half-finished flight to the city. He sat up with the feeling of deja-vu swirling around him. Not this exact place but a scene similar: his first morning without Danarius; much had changed in such a short time.

Fenris’ head throbbed as he tried to stand and the pain forced him to slump back down next to the stream. Reviewing his reflection in the crystal water he concluded that he was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and shards of grass clung to his face haphazardly. His clothes were sweat soaked and smelled like inappropriately pungent cheese. His hair was matted, and mud clung to the nook and crannies of his body. Leaning over the stream, he splashed cool water on his face and made to stand again, slower this time. He needed to get back to the city, and the trip would take an hour in his condition. Taking a few feeble steps to regain the strength in his legs, he considered the walk a positive as it would give him time to think. He decided to start with the last thing he remembered: the sound of Hawke’s surprise before he ran. He fumbled in step as the memory painfully raked over him. There was no reason for his body to react so violently. They had only met three times after all, albeit within a twenty-four period.

Fenris took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. There was no logical explanation for him to be so attached to a mage other than a sick need for a master. Run as far as he could, and try as hard as he might, it was still comforting to revert to being a mindless drone taking orders. He shivered in disgust that a part of him missed his slave life and he felt shame at the cost of those who had helped shield him from it. The Fog Warriors were ill-equipped to deal with budding, uncontrolled magic revealing their secretive lifestyle and therefore had strict and punitive measures in place to purge their clan. At the time, their methods seemed rational to Fenris, and they were trustworthy because of them. He felt safe amongst their number and thought to remain with indefinitely. They had died because of that choice.

He had sworn off engagement with others as a penance for their deaths. He would not be a slave but neither would he be free as long as the threat of Danarius’ reprisal lingered; the shadow of chain that kept Fenris’ leashed to his old life. His mind told him there was no justifiable reason to remain in Hawke’s good graces. She was a tool who had served her purpose. Danarius had been part of the deal, but it was no fault of hers that he escaped. Besides, there were no guarantees that he would seek retribution. Danarius avoided the front lines of battle, and after losing a prized apprentice, it was less likely he would risk coming himself. The objectivity of Fenris’ mind, however right, did not settle his conflict; his heart had chosen its fight.

  
“Hawke is a mage,” his heart spoke, committed to fighting for Hawke.

“Yes,” he agreed, wearingly.

“A responsible and caring one even.”

“Yes.”

“A striking woman…” continued his heart.

“Yes, but a mage nonetheless,” he countered inwardly and gripped the front of his body armor in a failed attempt to clutch his chest. He could feel his heart race underneath the protection as he closed his eyes and Hawke's plump rosy lips came into sharp relief accompanying a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Soon joined by the soft blush of her cheeks, the tinge of a scar across her nose, and the pale milk of her skin against the raven of her hair. “She has bewitched me.”

“She would not,” his heart whispered to him.

“She is a mage! They are greedy and selfish and bloodthirsty in their ambition,” he screamed back as his feet pounded the ground with each step.

“Not all, not she,” his heart calmly replied, and Fenris broke into a sprint in an attempt to outrun the war within himself.

By the time his feet hit the first stone steps of the city’s lowest pedestrian entrance near the docks, it was near noon, and his stomach reminded him he had not eaten. He picked up his pace; he could grab food in the Lowtown market and then head back to the mansion for a shower and change of clothes. He needed a plan of action, and if his heart had a say in the matter, it would start with an apology. Consumed by his mental distraction, he hadn’t thought to stick to the shadows, but the murmur of the crowds as he passed did not affect him. He was too lost in thought to notice. His head wanted a plan to deal with Danarius, a way to pull him out of his stronghold in the Imperium. He mulled over strategy and possible maneuvers until a firm grip tugged at his arm. He quickly spun on his heels, his hands already reaching for his concealed blade, guns were too risky in broad daylight.  
  
“Slow down, would ya?” came a voice from a short beardless man. Fenris released the grip of his knife as Varric let his hand drop. “Where have you been? Do you know how worried Hawke is?” His words came in starts and stops as the short man struggled to catch his breath, having run to catch up Fenris.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Fenris asked, annoyed at the warmth the sound of her name caused in his chest.  
  
“No one has seen hide nor hair of you since last night. Hawke stayed out for hours searching the coastline until Isabella forced her home. She only relented when we all promised we would keep a look out for you.” Varric had regained his breath and shifted his tone to a mixture of anger and worry.  
  
“I never asked for that!” Fenris snapped.   
  
“No, but you’re gonna get it,” Varric shot back before giving a heavy sigh. “Care for a drink?”  
  
Fenris looked at him as if he had lost his mind, but agreed, a drink sounded great. “Why not,” he answered with feigned apathy.  
  
The two walked to the back entrance of the Hanged Man. Varric led him to his office and tossed him a towel and a bag before ducking behind the bar. “There’s a shower behind the door to your right. Clean up if you want, and I’ll pour us something good. There should be another bag underneath the sink of spare clothes. You’re welcome to anything that fits.”  
  
Fenris considered his options for a moment as he held the toiletry bag and towel in his hands. He doubted any of the man’s spare clothes would fit as he was a good foot and a half taller, but it would be better than nothing, especially if he were going to stay and drink. With resignation, he turned to the bathroom, settled the borrowed items on the counter and turned on the shower. The water was hot at least as the dirt and grime of the fight swirled down the drain. He lathered the soap and ran it across his chest, checking for injuries as he worked. When he brushed along one shoulder, his memory flashed with the feeling of Hawke’s hand, twice pressed there the evening prior. “Vehendis!” he shouted as his fist hit the slick tile wall. Was there nothing he could do that would not bring her to mind?  
  
He hurriedly rinsed and turned off the shower before stepping out and reaching for the towel. As he ruffled his hair in the terrycloth, the piquant smell of ginger and lime filled the bathroom. He enjoyed the scent and inhaled deeply in an attempt to hold it and clear his mind. Feeling satisfied he bent down to retrieve the spare clothes bag and rifled through it. There was not much to choose from, but he decided on a thin t-shirt and a threadbare pair of black sweatpants. The shirt was a little small and hugged his frame, but the set was comfortable and oddly familiar. Not willing to devote the time to understand why he left the bathroom to find the drink Varric had promised. What Fenris did not expect was the laugh that rolled across the office when he did so. “What’s so funny?” he asked Varric, genuinely confused.  
  
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were as obvious as a neon sign!” Varric choked out through laughter, now intensified due to the incredulous look he received from Fenris.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“Your clothes,” Varric offered as he tried to gain composure.  
  
“What of them? You said they were spares and to help myself. Was there some other bag I missed?” Fenris looked at himself, and back to the small bath, there had only been one bag underneath the sink.  
  
“No, no, it's just that...well...of all the junk in there you could have picked,” Varric had stopped laughing and now looked at Fenris as if he was proud. “That’s Hawke’s stuff.”  
  
“What?” demanded Fenris, a crack in his voice as his mind recoiled and his heart leaped.  
  
“Yep, that’s her favorite outfit from her days at university. Cut short because of the Blight you know, but she couldn’t part with them. Left ‘em here as a spare or for safekeeping; I was never sure.” His face beamed with a large smug smile. “I think she stole the pants from Carver or maybe an ex-boyfriend…” he began to blabber on, but Fenris had stopped listening.  
  
“Why, exactly, is it funny that I am wearing them?” Fenris tone was sharp, and annoyance swam just underneath as he interrupted Varric’s story.  
  
“Hmm,” the man huffed as his eyes narrowed on Fenris. “Don’t you find it humorous that you chose the specific pieces that belonged to her? There are clothes in that bag from everyone. You could have picked something much better suited to your frame, or a mix of different stuff, but you chose not just one item, but two, from the same person, a certain gorgeous woman from Hightown.”  
  
“You are ridiculous. You’re acting like it's some superstition or fate. It was just what was on top and looked the most comfortable.” Fenris said as dismissively as possible crossing the room to sit down.  
  
“I’m not superstitious just observant. I see how you are with Hawke. Your prickly demeanor melts when she’s present, and the look on your face when you saw her in her combat suit was priceless. Your jaw stayed slack for a solid minute!” Varric chuckled and handed Fenris a tumbler of scotch.  
  
It took every ounce of strength Fenris had to sip his drink rather than fight back. Defending himself would only encourage the man. After draining the glass faster than he should have, Fenris thought for a moment on the likelihood that he would be able to escape constant interaction with Hawke. It seemed his present company, and his heart was determined to lead him to strange places.

“Would it be so bad?” the thought whispered within him as he rolled the empty glass in his hand.  
  
“Huh?” spurted Fenris as his eyes darted to the man standing to his side, unsure if he was responding to his voice or that of Varric’s.  
  
“I asked if you wanted a refill,” Varric gave him a weary, measured gaze.  
  
“Uh...yes, please,” Fenris tried to regain composure. He would lose his damned mind if he kept this up.  
  
“You know, she cares about you,” Varric offered as an aside over his shoulder.  
  
The words rang in Fenris’s ears, and he coughed a little as he could feel a blush rising his neck. “What does that matter,” he asked before remember to add, “if it’s even true.”  
  
“Oh it’s true,” replied Varric has he returned a full tumbler to Fenris and sat down across from him. “And it only matters if you intend to do something about it.”   
  
Fenris watched the man with suspicion. Varric was up to something, and Fenris disliked the idea of being an unwitting pawn. “Your head is too filled with fantasy stories for your next book. You’ve let your imagination run wild.”  
  
Varric laughed again, “of that I have no doubt, but the fires of my imagination require kindling found in reality around me.” His smile faded as he leaned closer to Fenris, a serious air filled the space between them. “Look, I’ve known Hawke for years and seen her through various relationships and dalliances, but I have never, and let me emphasize, NEVER, seen her like she was last night.”  
  
He stopped to let his words sink in and only when Fenris gulped back a quick swig of the scotch did Varric continue. “I saw how she was with you that first night here at the bar. She would have taken you on the table if it wasn’t for the crowd of people, but it was more than that last night. She was guarding you like a dragon guards gold, and don’t think I didn’t hear her tell you to take the van and run if things went south.”  
  
“From what I gather she is protective of all her friends,” Fenris offered to ease the tension and the implication that hovered over him. As Varric’s eyes gleamed and a smirk formed on his face, Fenris knew he had said the wrong thing.

“Ah, but you see, you are not one...yet.” Fenris began to speak, but Varric shook his head and interrupted, “we, her friends, have all fought to earn our position alongside her, and I can tell you that none earned their spot faster than me, and even then it took a few weeks. Hawke doesn’t trust easily, for a variety of well-deserved reasons, but you? She just let you walk right in without so much as a blink. I doubt she even realizes how far you’ve trespassed.”  
  
Fenris was dumbstruck. He had no idea how to respond to, or even if he should believe, what he was hearing. If it were true then surely it would only make his inner struggle that much more difficult to resolve. He took a sip of his drink as his head began to swim, pulled in too many directions to want to maintain sobriety. He let his head fall back on the brim of the chair as the last of the scotch in his glass swirled with the motion of his wrist. Varric, thankfully, remained quiet.  
  
Fenris closed his eyes and let the warmth of the alcohol encompass him. As silent minutes passed, he thought about what Varric said and whether or not it was true. He hadn’t known the man long but would have said he was trustworthy if asked. He had already decided to believe Hawke, and that should, by extension, include Varric, the man she trusted most. What did he stand to gain by lying anyways?  
  
Fenris sighed as he tried again to organize his thoughts. This time he focused on what felt right. That was easy: killing Danarius. As the idea filled him, he pressed further. There must be more than just one thing. “Hawke,” whispered Fenris’ heart. His mind tried valiantly to keep him safe, to remind him of the anguish his experience with mages had caused, but it remained honest in assessment of Hawke. His mind agreed that she could be different, was different. Fenris dug his nails into his palms at the thought. How could he know that? What experience had he had with a mage that would form the basis for such trust? He was an idiot to think otherwise.

He remembered the sound of her voice in the slave den, the concern and the willingness to help him, even unto torture. If she was willing to bend so far for him of what else was she capable? “Can she do no right?” his heart whispered to him. “You accuse her when she stands by you, supporting you and letting you make your way, but then you find fault with mages who do not.”  
Fenris inhaled through his nose, seeking the ginger and lime scent again. Hawke had not been surprised by a single comment or reaction of his, at least not until the last. She seemed almost supernatural in her ability to read him. There were exceptions to every rule, should he not allow her to be one?

His mind wandered as he thought, and visions of mages filled his mind. Magisters and apprentices with a never-ending quest for power using and abusing their lessers to that end. The Fade and demons were taunting him as one would a pathetic animal. Then, as if a bolt shot through him, he sat up with a start. His eyes went full, and the liquid in his glass splashed at the sudden jerk. He knew why the borrowed clothes felt familiar; the demons had taunted him with dreams of a sister and yet she was real. His lover, who always felt right and consummate, had worn these clothes in his visions, the demons had given her Hawke’s form in the last, could that be real as well? He stared at a confused and startled Varric as Fenris realized that the same confidence, the same feeling, he had when entirely sure of his decisions, he had when he thought of Hawke.

“You’re right.”  
  
Varric remained perfectly still at the sudden outburst, his confusion not fading. He gulped down the swig he had started and taken a long pause before responding. “Right about what?” he asked meekly, seemingly unsure he wanted to hear the answer but intrigued to know he was right about whatever it was.  
  
“Me and Hawke.” Fenris gave him a sly smile. “Now, what do I do about it?”  
  
Fenris cursed that he did not have his phone ready to take a picture of the look on Varric’s face. Surprise, shock, happiness, and mischief all intermingled in delighted harmony. Fenris took a sip of his drink and sat back to watch the show as the wheels in Varric’s head began to turn visibly. He enjoyed this, the return of the confidence that he had when he met Hawke. Embracing what he thought would be the worst decision he could make had surprisingly cleared the struggle that had robbed his strength. Fenris chuckled at the irony of his situation, the visions that had taunted him had become his line of hope.  
  
“Apology first,” Varric finally offered, and Fenris nodded in agreement. “We need to get you properly cleaned up and dressed to impress. I doubt it will take much for her to forgive you, especially if you show up contrite with offerings of apology. You’ll sweep her off her feet with ease.” Varric began frantically texting on his phone. Fenris checked his watch; it was midday, plenty of time to make preparations and knock on her door by nightfall. He finished his drink and got up to gather his stuff. Varric gave him a lift back to the mansion and before dropping him off promised to return shortly with needed supplies. It was Fenris’s job, Varric instructed, to prepare an adequate and heartfelt apology. “A declaration of love never hurts either!” Varric yelled out the window as he sped off to the Market Square.  
  
Fenris was too distracted by his task to register the quick glow of his markings as he pushed through the dilapidated mansion door and made for the master suite. He had apologized plenty of times before, some with actual sincerity, but he needed to be specific he decided and offer an explanation rather than an excuse. He dropped his sack of dirty gear by the door to the large bedroom and took a deep breath as it closed behind him.  
  
He could still smell ginger and lime from the body wash on his skin as he sat on the bed and began to remove his boots. The monotony of the task let his mind explore what his heart wanted. It made sense to have a goal in mind, and even if he was going against his own better judgment to let his heart drive his course, the least he could do was make his mind try and clear a path. As the second boot finally broke free and slipped to the floor, Fenris’s brow crinkled as he concentrated. Did he not know what he wanted? Just her was all that repeated.  
  
That could not be enough; he needed to have a plan or an offer. He had seen courtship in Tevinter; one never came with an empty hand. He ran his fingers through his hair as he walked to the wardrobe where all his possessions fit in a small contained space. The best outfit he owned was one he had already worn; maybe he could call Varric and see if new clothes were apart of the supplies list. Either way, he wanted to get out of the borrowed ones he had. If they were Hawke’s then he would need to make sure he returned them without damage, he could at least offer that.  
  
As he gently removed the clothes and laid them, folded neatly, on the bed, he stood there bare naked in the middle of the room. A sense of shame ran through him as he dwelled on the state of his surroundings. He was an escaped slave squatting in a crumbling mansion, at the mercy of stranger’s kindness, who did not even have the foresight to own a spare pair of clean underwear. He padded over to the desk where he had left a bottle of wine half drank, and began to gulp it down. He would not get drunk in such a small serving, even with the glasses he had already had. He just needed to calm his nerves. He had nothing material to offer her and was far from genuinely free; every day would be a threat of death or kidnapping as long as Danarius lived. Fenris didn’t even have lead to follow as to where to find him. The Magister had probably returned to Tevinter and Fenris would not follow him there. There would be no way of knowing how long this threat would cloud his future, and it would take determined selfishness to ask another to join or wait.  
  
The thought that he would not be worthy plagued him. He paced as he tried to consider if the concern was born more from a desire to serve or partner. As attractive and brilliant as Hawke was, and as much as he wanted his dreams to be true, he would not, could not, allow himself to submit to another mage. If it were a desire to serve, then he wouldn’t need to be worthy or worry about being selfish, he would run. As Fenris paced he begged his heart to give him more, declaring she was enough was entirely unsatisfactory for his head to follow along. He wished he had someone to confide in that would understand and help him weigh his options. Options? Was it that simple? The notion that he had such a thing evidently proved that he was not in danger of being Hawke’s slave.  
  
Fenris began recalling their interactions. She had given him choices, treated him as an equal. When she guessed his past, she had apologized. She had let him deal with Hadriana how he wanted and then supported his choice. Regret struck him again as he recalled his last words to her. He was an ass and had no right to treat her that way. How could he ever expect her to return his affection? She knew what he was.  
  
Before he could dwell further on how pathetic he was, a thunderous crash filled the room behind him. He pivoted in place to see the commotion and watched in awe as the door to the room landed with a thud on the floor, sending dust flying in a whirl. He did not have time to register what was happening or even defend himself as he heard a shriek yell out his name from within the cloud of dust. Coughing and waving the dust from his eyes, he finally focused on the source of the destruction: Hawke stood seething in the doorway, shoulders noticeably rising and falling with her breath.


	5. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke confronts Fenris. Will he fight, run, or accept that some things are not what they first appear?

“Fenris!” Hawke bellowed as she began to cross the threshold of the master suite, stepping on the downed door as she flew towards her prey. He froze, wine bottle in hand as she emerged from the haze. Her hair was down and flowed freely as it had on the patio of the bar. She wore a short plaid skirt with a matching monogrammed long-sleeved wrap and no shoes. Her entire appearance reminded him of pajamas and lazy afternoon naps. Fenris noticed she was not carrying her staff and wondered if she had knocked the door from its hinges by brute strength.   
  
“Where the BLIGHT have you been?” she demanded. “Do you know how worried I was? You could have been kidnapped by Danarius for all I knew! I risked my neck for you - and this is how you repay me! You son-of-a-bitch!” Hawke continued her advance until she was less than a foot away from him, eyes wild as her hair.  
  
Fenris gulped hard as she drew close and remembered he was still completely naked and slightly if inappropriately, aroused. He frantically covered himself as best as possible and tried to interject to explain, but Hawke was fuming and not letting him say a word.  
  
“I get that you hate mages, you have every right, but I thought we had made headway or that you at least saw me as different from THEM!” her hands were gesturing frantically as she spoke, but her voice cracked and wavered with emotion. “You said you would let me show you a different side, and I believed you. But magic spoils everything - that’s what you think.” She hovered so close he could feel the fabric of her skirt against his thigh. He increased his grip on the wine bottle and tried to keep his focus off the uncomfortable pressure forming against the glass and on her cutting accusations.  
  
Hawke’s voice grew calmer and quieter until finally, it was little more than a whisper. “Maker, I’m an idiot, ” she sighed heavily as she turned to leave, muttering to herself under her breath.  
  
Fenris throat was dry as he saw her walk away. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, “Hawke!” he called out, forgetting his modesty as he lunged forward, dropping the wine bottle to a crash on the floor. He reached out to grab her arm, only managing to clutch the sleeve of her wrap and pull it loose as he pulled her back to him.  
  
“I’ll fix the door, don’t worry.” She did not even turn her head to look at him as she spoke. “Not that it stands out in this crap heap anyway,” she added bitterly as she shoved his hand off her sleeve.  
  
“Heh,” Fenris found himself offended by the dig at his surroundings and he was ready to snipe back at her but the thought that she considered herself an idiot stopped him. Why would she feel that way? He stepped closer and placed both hands on her shoulders to keep her from leaving, only slightly registering the exposed skin bare underneath her now unbound wrap as he pressed against her back.  
  
“I am sorry,” he softly spoke as he leaned down to her speak just off her ear. “I never meant to lie to you,” he wrapped his arms around her without thinking and held her tight; she did not fight back. “I did not mean what I said, at least as it applies to you.” Her head raised a little at those words and rested against his chest. He continued, “I want to experience the good that you say magic has to offer and I know that you are different from Hadriana and Danarius. I’ve seen it in how you fight and support your friends.” His confidence built slightly as he let his heart guide the apology.  
  
“I want to trust that you are real, that your magic is controlled and righteous, that you count me as one of your friends. I want to stay by your side!” The words rushed naturally out from him, connected to each other by the speed of his speech. The last had been more of a confession than an apology and his breath caught in his chest as he realized the gravity of what he said.

He was confident that the heat he felt on his cheeks blushed down his entire body as embarrassment took hold. He had meant to be eloquent and charming but felt like a bubbling mess instead. He would be lucky, he thought, if Hawke forgave him and it would take a miracle for her to trust him after this. He steeled himself for her response, anticipating anger and spite, both he felt he well deserved. He let his hands drop from her, and he took a step back, only then registering just how close he had unconsciously been. He did not attempt to cover himself, he just hung his head and waited, shriveled and cold. The floor was even filthier than before, she was right, the place was a dump.  
  
Fenris stood there in silence, unaware of time passing. He hated this feeling, not being in control, of needing someone else. As he geared up to convince himself that this had all been a mistake, that he would be better returning to solitude and forgetting the only good mage he had ever met, he heard her voice call to him. “Fenris,” Hawke’s voice was clear and did not have a trace of the previous anger. “Did you go to Varric’s before you came here?” Fenris looked up to see she had moved to the bed and was holding her old sweatpants, thumbing the soft fabric.  
  
“Well...not intentionally. He caught me as I was going through Lowtown.” He felt like a child giving tentative answers to a harsh teacher.  
  
“Did he give you these?” Fenris still could not read her voice. There was no ill inflection, and she did not seem mad, but he could not trust it he told himself.  
  
“He told me where to find some spare clothes and told me to help myself after I showered.” He hoped that was a right answer. He wanted to please her, and the feeling made him wince at how ridiculous the notion was.  
  
Hawke smiled, Fenris could just see the edge of it in her profile. “That explains why you smell like my bathroom,” she chuckled a bit. She tossed him the pants but did not turn to look at him. Fenris caught them as his eyes blinked trying to decide if her smile was real or an illusion. When he did not move to put them on, Hawke turned to face him.  
  
“Fenris,” she said calmly, her eyes holding his in the broken afternoon light filtering down through a hole in the roof. “You’re naked and although I appreciate the opportunity to return your attention from yesterday,” she purred at the words and let her eyes rove over his body, pausing briefly midway up, “it might be easier for us to talk if you got dressed.”  
  
Fenris moved swiftly to shove his legs inside the pants, his heart racing as he moved. Too absorbed in his torment to have noticed Hawke’s evaluation. His fingers pulled the waistband to hang low on his hip and then he glanced up to see Hawke sitting on the edge of the bed with her head downcast. He could not decide if she was upset or offering him privacy and he was unsure how to proceed. With a deep breath he resolved to go with what felt natural, it may be a slave’s response, but that is what he was after all.

He moved carefully to the edge of her dangling legs and bent down on one knee in front of her, bowing his head and raising one hand in a fist across his chest. He had taken this pose countless times in Tevinter as he waited for commands, but this felt different. This time the posture was not a requirement but an offering. He wanted to demonstrate the best way he could how sorry he was and that he cared for her and never wanted her to feel regret because of his actions.  
  
He focused his eyes on her painted toes that hung in front of him. Her feet were small but fit her frame; she was not very tall. He guessed that she preferred bare feet when at home, he could see the rough edges of her soles, worn ragged from abuse on the stone pavers. He wondered if she liked to walk barefoot on the beach or in the fields of grass he had passed on his return to the city. Maybe one day he could take her to the coast and tell her about Seheron. They would walk barefoot together, and she would smile in the sun.

He grimaced at the direction his thoughts took. To be hopeful for a day in the sun with Hawke was a dream, but it was a dream that he had hoped to think may be real. He clenched his jaw to focus. He needed to repeat his apology, with eloquence and purpose, and then offer to leave. Danarius was his problem; Hawke had lived up to her end of the bargain. He would move on from Kirkwall, maybe head west to Orlais or south to the ruins of Ostagar. He could hide in the wilds and live life on the run.  
  
“This must be hard for you,” Hawke’s voice pulled him from his thoughts as she once again put her delicate fingers to his chin and lifted his head. “I imagine you’re not used to people being genuinely concerned. I should not have expected you to come find me and let me know you were safe when you returned.” Her eyes shown nothing but honesty and consideration as he looked up at her. Then she blushed and looked around at the room, “I’m sorry. I yelled at you unfairly…and busted down your door. I really can fix it,” she began to babble uncharacteristically, “I’m quite handy, and this place isn’t that much of a dump. A few…”  
  
Her blush was beautiful as the bloom of jungle flower and endearing. Fenris’ heart rippled in a beat, and a brush of confidence consumed him. He closed his eyes, took her hand from his chin and placed a single, tentative kiss on her fingers; she stopped talking. He let his lips linger on her soft skin for a moment before lowering her hand and slowly breaking their connection. He could hear her breathing and took a deep breath of his own before opening his eyes again to look at her.

This felt right. The sea of the blue he adored gazed back at him, watery but not tearful. Her lips parted but not in a smile or discernible expression. They each remained motionless, regarding the other, hesitant to speak or bring the moment to an end. Finally, Hawke placed a hand on his raised knee as she slid off the edge of the bed and into a curled pose on the floor in the small space between him and the bed frame. He held his breath and swallowed dryly, almost terrified of what she would do next.  
  
He felt the warmth of her hand through the thin fabric on his knee, and it tethered him in place, he could not run, not as long as she looked at him like that. Hawke pressed on his knee to indicate he should drop it down and he did, adjusting his position so that he sat on the backs of his legs. He waited for her to speak or move and held his breath in prayer that she would touch him again.

Then, as if in answer to his silent prayer, she brought her hand up and with gentle fingers pressed against his chest. Fenris became instantly aware of his racing pulse and tried to calm his heart, not wanting to appear weaker than he felt. As he closed his eyes and tried to still the throbbing in his veins, his body began to feel weightless and warm, like he had sunk into a deep, soothing bath.  
  
He opened his eyes to a familiar soft golden glow. The light and the warmth were familiar, and he knew they came from Hawke. When he forced his eyes up, he saw Hawke looking back at him, hair flowing from an unseen breeze. Her sapphire eyes were piercing and focused, but she appeared calm. He wanted to ask what was going on, why he felt weightless, what was she doing, but he could not speak.  
  
“You’re safe,” he heard her say, but her mouth never moved. A small laugh echoed in his head, “this is what my magic can do, may I share it with you?”  
  
Was she in his head? This time a visible smile broke on her face as her voice sang in his mind. “In a way, yes. I am connected to you like this and can sense your questions, but I promise I won’t go further into your thoughts than that.”  
  
Could she? “I could read your mind like this but I won't. I'd rather you share what you want, if and when you want. For now, I wanted to show you mine. I'm sorry if it's intense, but I promise I won't hurt you.”  
  
“I am fine. I trust you,” Fenris responded internally; he believed his own words.  
  
“I would not have gone this far if I sensed otherwise, but it's good to hear you say it,” a new surge of warmth rolled against him like waters lapping at the edge of a pool. It felt strange to have a conversation without uttering a word, but it felt better to be this close to her, and he wouldn't waste the opportunity. Fenris jumped a bit at the thought. Had she caught it? He wasn't sure what was private and what wasn't.  
  
“If you want, I can teach you how to block certain thoughts but for now, anything you want me to know say my name first. If I don't hear my name, I'll ignore it. Don't feel embarrassed. How about I share something to get the ball rolling and put us on equal footing?”  
  
He was genuinely embarrassed now but held on to her suggested rule. The idea that they could be on equal footing in her eyes was, to him, a gift. “Hawke - go ahead.” As soon as he spoke, he saw himself clear as day leaning against a wall in her courtyard. He looked strong and determined. His shirt hung tightly against his body, and he could see the outline of his chest and biceps. His pants clung to his legs, leaving further outlines Fenris was positive had not existed.  
  
“This is my memory of yesterday morning. You see what I saw as I saw it. When you're ready, I'll add feelings and thoughts to the image. It may be awkward but let it play like a movie, okay?”  
  
Fenris inhaled, “Hawke - I'm ready.” Suddenly the image began to move, and he could see Hawke sparring with her training dummies but from her perspective. He watched as her arms swung and sliced through the air in front of him. He felt happiness, but he could have sworn she was mad at the time. Suddenly he felt heat focused in his core and heard a hollow version of Hawke's voice curse loudly. Then she admonished herself for distracted by the handsome devil! He let out a puff of a laugh as he continued to watch earnestly, but then the vision went dark. He could feel the fog around him that told him the memory still played.  
  
This must be when she closed her eyes and burned the tree he told himself. Soon enough light poured in, and he saw himself standing with a smirk on his face a few feet away; heat rocked his core again, and he felt himself stiffen in natural response. Was he feeling her arousal? His hair was perfectly slicked back with a loose strand fluttering in the breeze at his eye line. The bright sun dipped behind a cloud but left a single beam encircling him like a halo. The hollow version of Hawke's voice spoke again, this time telling herself to act cool and ignore his….  
  
“Hawke,” the image faded as he thought her name. “Is this really how you see me?” Fenris knew he had not had a smirk but an open mouth gasp, he remembered because he had bitten his tongue slightly when he slammed his jaw shut. He also knew the sun had never highlighted him that way, making him look like a portrait of an old god.  
  
He could feel her smile, “Yes.”  
  
“Hawke - show me your last memory from the slave den.” Fenris grew bold from the exposure to her memory, and his request came out as more of demand.  
  
“No,” she replied simply.  
  
“Hawke - What do you have to hide?” Was he accusing her of being dishonest? No, he was goading her. This connection was a rush.  
  
“I have nothing to hide, but you want to see my memory so you can fuel your regret and self-loathing. I won't go along with that. You're forgiven, understood?”  
  
“Hawke - but I…”  
  
“Stop!” Her voice reverberated through him, and the warmth flashed uncomfortably for a brief second. “We cannot move forward if you insist on living in the past.” The weightless feeling vanished along with any warmth as she removed her hand from his chest. Hawke's hair stopped flowing, and the dim rays of light from the natural skylight returned. “I have shown you how far my magic can go. I've never trusted anyone else with this. Not even Varric knows what all I can do.” It was weird seeing her mouth move as she spoke and hearing her words rather than sensing them. “Now you have a choice,” she began again. “You can stop my heart, and I'll cease to be a problem for you. Or you can trust me. What is it that you want Fenris?”  
  
He considered for a moment as he looked her over and thought about his answer that took surprisingly little time to form. Embolden by her memory he shifted to sit more comfortably on the floor and then grabbed Hawke around the waist and pulled her to straddle his lap. She gave a quick yelp at his pull but went along with it and put her arms around his neck as she settled. He pushed her hair behind her shoulder as he had done on the patio and inhaled their shared scent of her body wash. It was slightly sweeter on her skin, and he liked it.  
  
Her hair was soft, like ribbons of cool silk in his hand. Her skirt rose up her thigh in her straddled position and lingered on the edge of indecency. Her wrap hung loose, matching the daring of the skirt, but in such proximity, she was not in danger of full exposure. Fenris liked the feel of her weight in his lap and her chest pressed against his as he held her. He let her hair fall from his hand and moved to cup her face. He rested his forehead against hers, “I want you.”  
  
He tilted his head and slowly approached her lips with his. They had done this before, but he wanted to savor the feeling this time. She closed her eyes in anticipation, and he did the same as he felt the first brush of her skin against his.  
  
“I think I've got everything you're going to need, and… Woah!”  
  
Fenris could feel Hawke pull back as Varric spoke behind him. Fenris didn't see the glare that Hawke shot the intruder over his shoulder, only feeling the space she left when she lifted off his lap to stand. “Varric,” Fenris spoke as politely as he could manage as he too moved to stand and face the man.  
  
“Ha, uh, looks like you two have everything well in hand,” Varric laughed forcibly as he spoke, eyes pleading for Fenris's forgiveness. “Dare I ask what happened to the door?” He walked across the felled wood towards the bathroom to deposit his bounty on the only dustless surface available.  
  
“That would be my fault,” answered Hawke firmly. “I might have overreacted a bit when I realized he'd come back without telling me.”  
  
“How did you find out by the way?” asked Fenris, only looking at her from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Yeah,” called Varric from the bathroom. “We were gonna get broody here all cleaned up and then send him your way tonight.” Fenris was glad he had not turned to face Hawke, was there no end to the layers of embarrassment he would feel today?  
  
“I do not brood,” he managed to snipe back.  
  
“Please, if you were any more broody, women would swoon and have broody babies in your honor.” Varric seemed to enjoy the red tinge creeping up Fenris neck. Hawke broke the tension with a hearty laugh that only grew as Fenris finally looked at her with sad, round eyes.  
  
“Hawke - don't laugh. You'll only encourage him,” Fenris thought as he tried to make eye contact with a swaying, smiling Hawke. She didn't seem to register his thought; maybe she was too distracted. He watched as she plopped down on the bed clutching her sides with laughter.  
  
“I enchanted your door first thing when we made it back to the city. I wasn’t sure if it was you or another attacker but rushed over to see.”  
  
“Dressed like that, and without your staff? My, my, someone was in quite a hurry,” Varric teased Hawke.  
  
She smiled and a glimmer shined in her eyes before she burst into more laughter. Varric joined her on the bed, and the two seemed to egg each other on as Fenris stood, firmly melancholy, a few feet away. He watched as the friends laughed with tears in their eyes, spurting out unintelligible comments to each other. She had said Varric didn't know she could speak in his mind, but as Fenris looked at them he would have sworn they were having a private conversation.

Fenris sighed and shifted in place. He was not sure what to do. It was his room, but he felt like an overstayed guest. Hawke and Varric seemed so comfortable in their surroundings, regardless where they were. He felt jealous of their ease, would he ever be able to relax like them? Certainly not at this moment he thought. Any confidence he had bolstered by his connection to Hawke now ran out from him like water through a sieve; the reality of his last day hit him like a bullet to the chest.  
  
Believing the lie he told himself, that he was the intruder, not Varric, Fenris decided it was better to leave the friends to their joy. Quietly he crossed to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. He could still hear their laughter, and his chest lurched as his self-imposed shame stamped down his earnest desire to join them. He wondered as he let his head fall back against the door, had he ever had confidence? He slid down to a heap on the floor as he tried to remember a time when he didn't second guess every waking moment. If this is what it meant to care about someone he was not sure he could handle the burden. Then the vision of himself through Hawke's memory filled his mind. He had looked so confident, not a hint of the turmoil that filled him. How could she not see what a wreck he was? As his uneasiness began to lift, he heard a knock on the door.  
  
“Broody, I'm heading out. Catch me at the club later.”  
  
Fenris scrambled to his feet and stepped away from the door to reply, “thank you. I'll find you later.” He paused for a response, but when none came, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. Such a simple gesture was refreshing and always helped him focus. He walked out of the bathroom expecting to find that Hawke had left with Varric, but he was more than pleasantly surprised to see her setting the door upright against the wall. Under her careful guidance, the door looked more like an art piece rather than further evidence of the house’s poor condition. “You don't need to do that,” he told her as he walked up to offer help.  
  
“Of course I do, but I'm concerned it might not fit back properly.” She stepped back to evaluate the empty door frame and bumped into Fenris's crossed arms. He noticed that she did not move away, but lingered on the edge. He felt calmer having her near.  
  
“Hawke, I'm not mad, and you are right, this place is a heap.” He gestured around them and turned to face her side. “If I can handle a hole in my roof I think a missing door is the least of my concerns.”  
  
“What if someone attacks?” she faced him with concern. “That's one line of defense you won't have.”  
  
“And look how well it defended me from you,” Fenris registered Hawke's look of shock, “though, you may have been more motivated than hired thugs.” He stroked his chin in a mocking thoughtful pose. “It's also not likely they'll use magic.”  
  
“I'll have you know I kicked that door down on my own without any spell.” Her eyes narrowed on him as she put her hands on her hips.  
  
“Hmm, then it wasn't much of a fortification, to begin with, no loss after all.” The banter between them felt comfortable, and he began to think his confidence level directly correlated to her proximity.  
  
“You!” She exclaimed as she lowered her head to look at him from through her lashes: a hunter assessing her prey.  
  
Fenris felt a shiver up his spine as Hawke looked like she would lunge for him. He tentatively stepped back, but she followed. Another step back, this time closer to the doorway; she followed again, eyes focused on his. “Hawke,” he drew out her name and steeped it in a cautious tone as he made several steps through the door.  
  
She didn't move at first. A wide grin cracked her stern expression, and a sick chuckle rumbled under her breath. Then, without warning, she launched after him. Fenris registered her change in stance in the split second before she began and he turned and bolted out onto the landing.  
  
He cleared the stair railing in one leap and soared down to the empty hall landing in a roll before standing with a huff and turning to look back up towards his bedroom. Hawke stood at the top of the stairs, laughing.  
  
“You think distance will give you the upper hand?” she teased.  
  
“Only if you don't cheat with your magic,” he smirked and took a defensive stance. He raised his hand to invite her to spare, taunting her with having to make the first move.  
  
Hawke took the invitation with a smile and began to walk down the stairs. Fenris seared the image in his mind. He wanted Hawke to be able to see how he viewed her. Not as a mage, not as a threat, and not just as a beautiful woman. She was a lifeline. As she rounded the last length of stairs, he wanted to rush to her and hold her in his arms. He wanted to tell her how exceptional she was. How much she had changed his life in such a short time, that she was like a fire banishing his ice.


	6. Turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris has what he wants but not as he expected.

“Please don't,” she said with a hand covering her face as she lay on the floor, Fenris having knocked off her feet by a sweep of his leg during their spar.

“Are you hurt?” he asked in a quiet tone as he knelt down beside her and tried to assess any injury. She only shook her head. Fenris stood in response and wordlessly held out his hand for her. She hesitated but took it, and he helped her stand. He grasped her hand in his and led her out of the hall, through the kitchen, then an arched doorway, down a narrow flight of stairs and into a dark cove. “Light your orb,” he whispered, still holding her hand.

She did as he instructed, albeit much smaller and dimmer than she had the first time. In the new light, a large alcove of neatly stacked wine bottles in organized rows spread out in front of them. Hawke’s audible surprise echoed in the space. Fenris walked ahead of her to pick a couple of bottles. Once he found the label he wanted, he walked past her, encouraging her to follow with a flick of his head. He led her back up to his bedroom with a firm grasp of her hand, where he opened the first bottle, took a swig and handed it to her.

“The glassware fled with the owners,” he explained as he bent over to light the fireplace. It wasn't cold, but the ambiance would set a good mood for a heavy conversation. He saw Hawke take a sip in his peripheral view and he patted the floor next to him, beckoning her to sit as the fire sputtered to life. She sat down but not near enough to him for his satisfaction. She was strangely timid and withdrawn. He reached to take the bottle back with one hand and grabbed her leg with the other to encourage her to close the distance. It felt odd to him that their roles could reverse so effortlessly. Like a dance, they would each take a turn leading and encouraging the other. He smiled at the idea. “You did not hurt me,” he reassured her.

“I could have. If you had not swept my feet, you would have had been speared by the ice. I know I am competitive, but I crossed a line.” She looked only at the fire.

“That night in the slave den I ran because I was afraid of myself, not of you,” he offered in an attempt to soothe her discomfort. “You said that we could move forward only if I let go of the past; what of you?”

“What of me? I will always be a mage; it's not something I can leave behind, even for a mock fight apparently.” She refused to look at him but did not push away from their close position.

“You are to me, like the warm and inviting fire of a home’s hearth. You can be intense and powerful, but everything around you is better for it.” He rested his chin against her head.

“You're talking about me, not my magic,” she replied dismissively.

“They are one in the same, and I would not part with either of them.” He cupped his hand to her face and turned her so she could see him as he spoke.

“How can you say that?” she whimpered.

“Because despite how little time I have spent with you, and against the odds, you have shown me how wrong my assumptions were. You have shown me that it's the choices we make that define us, not our circumstances. You have your magic; I have my markings.” He took her hand and placed it against his bare chest, directly over a large grouping of the tattoo lines. “Every moment you don't pull the lyrium from me is a reminder of how different you are.”

“People change,” she whispered.

Still holding her hand to his chest, he could feel her hesitation and insecurity at their proximity. “Connect with me again,” his voice carried authority. She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted her with a command, “no more!” as he abruptly pushed her back and topped her, sitting across her hips. Hawke’s eyes were wide in startled surprise at his action and his tone. He could feel her body tense underneath him, but he left her arms free to test her reaction; she did not attempt to cast a spell or knock him free. “Connect with me,” he demanded. She nodded in compliance.

He placed his hands on either side of her head and hung over her chest, his hair falling like a curtain of snow, shielding their eyes from distraction. He felt her fingers snake up his chest, and his skin crawled at the touch, but he refused to let his eyes drift from hers. In the intimacy of the position, he could feel her shallow staccato breath pulse against his skin. “Hawke - can you hear me?” he asked as soon as the tell-tell warmth surrounded him; she nodded. “Why could you not earlier?”

“When?” her voice asked.

“Hawke - When you were with Varric.”

Her eyes were expressive of her emotions and understanding, “I dropped the connection when he walked in on us. Was there something you wanted me to know?”

“Hawke - It was not important, but this is.” He took a deep breath. They would continue to talk in circles unless something gave way. For two people who had already made it clear how they felt and what they liked, they kept dancing around each other.

He thought of every time he had seen her and been taken away by her beauty and strength and poured those memories into the memory of her on the stairs, then during their spar, then the moment he knew she would cheat, and finally when he thought he had hurt her. He replayed the scene over and over, each time adding more and more feeling, desire, and hope.

He didn’t know how the connection worked, but doubted he had the strength to focus and give her permission to look; the task was surprisingly exhausting. “Ha...Haw...please,” he finally managed to add before returning to concentrate on the image.

A surge of warmth swallowed him, and he felt like he was floating above the ground as she closed her eyes. He took that as a sign that she could see what he wanted, and so he replayed the image, focusing on every detail; none were too small. The way her hips swayed with each rung of the stairs. Her hand floating on the dark wood banister, unnecessary but elegant. Her hair was bouncing with the breeze from her descent. The flex of her thighs and the point of her feet as she reached for sure footing on each step. The way she rolled up her sleeves, the tension in her arms visible as she surveyed her opponent and battlefield. She was a warrior mage, confident in her abilities and victory.

The fight itself was a blur of movement, but there were brief glimpses where he had seen her eyes flash as he deflected an attack, could feel her determination as she missed her mark, and satisfaction when he missed his. He wanted her to know he had not held much back, that she was a worthy opponent. Finally, the moment where they had broken apart from a grapple and stood only a few feet away. Her chest heaving with effort, her sleeves haphazardly falling, her hair hanging in her face as they came to a tentative draw. He wanted Hawke to feel his devotion to her and how much restraint it had taken him not to rush her right there and make her his without another Maker-damned interruption.

Then the moment he realized she was going to use magic to bring their stalemate to an end. The shift of the ball of her foot, the deep breath followed by a glint in her eye and the subtle rise of one corner of her mouth as a cool breeze formed around them. Truthfully he hadn't expected her to do so well in hand-to-hand combat; most mages did not have any other useful battle skills. He had expected her to cheat at some point and had been ready for it. He knew the tell-tell signs of imminent magic use beat into him from experience. The almost imperceptible drop in temperature told him she would use ice. Based on his training he knew she would need a close combat spell; an ice spear or something similar made the most sense, and he knew which was her dominant hand.

He instinctively dropped down to swing his leg to her opposite side, knocking her back and sending the ice out and away from him at the same time; no worry or fear present.Then the sudden rush of concern as he heard her hit the tile hard and the gush of breath leave her lungs on the impact. The alarm that he had been too fierce and hurt her. The relief when he saw her move her arms freely without a cry of pain. The pride that she could handle herself in a fight. The want to keep her safe, to spar with her again, to be with her.

Fenris hadn’t realized he closed his eyes until the last moment played and the weight of his body returned to his arms. He collapsed to Hawke’s side, breathing harder than he thought he should. He lay still, catching his breath, waiting for her to say or do something to let him know she saw it. His eyes felt heavy from the effort, and he closed them again as the rhythm of his lungs returned to normal. Then there was no air in his chest, as he felt a weight thud against his him. When he opened his eyes, Hawke sat astride him, her hands pressing against his chest.

He searched her eyes for recognition, but he didn’t have long to evaluate before her mouth bore down on his. She moved with such ferocity, determination, and covetousness he did not have time to react as she claimed him. Her fingers raked down his chest, and he winced at the pain but did not pull away. Her touch intensified his senses: the smell of ginger and lime flooded his nostrils, the dry wine on her tongue, and the heat from her body igniting his core.

He felt the friction of his borrowed sweatpants against his half-hard cock as she rocked her hips against him and curled her feet around his sides. She broke the kiss for the barest of breaths when he brought his hands to her, sending a frisson of pleasure through her veins. He had enough time to adjust as she enveloped him again; this time swallowing his moan as she squeezed him between her thighs and reclaimed her lost territory. She was ravenous and bruising, and Fenris wanted more.

He wanted to run his hands over every part of her, feeling her body respond to his touch alone, to worship her and make her come undone. He wanted to feel the heat from her vision, knowing he could make her wet just with a look and low growl. He wanted to hear her moan and cry out as he put his practiced skill to his own desired use for the first time. He would bury his inhibition and insecurity in the pillow of her breasts and the slick of her core.

Not satisfied with their position he grabbed her neck with a fist of her hair and pressed his other palm into her back as he rolled them in a swift motion. He broke their kiss in the roll but matched her ferocity with his lips against her neck, his hands ripping open the wrap top she wore. He left wet tinges of red in his wake as he moved his mouth down her neck and over her collarbone to pause at the rise of her breasts. Her hands pawed at his back, and he pushed them down hard above her head and held them there as he pressed up to look at her.

She wore a sheer thin flesh-toned bra that gave him an enticing view. He growled low and deep. She gasped loudly at the sound, and her leg twitched. He gave her a wicked smirk before he tore the fabric from her, too impatient to bother with clasps, and met the exposed pebbled skin with a flat lick of his tongue. Her hips jerked at the sensation, and he repeated it on the other side as she writhed beneath him making salacious noises. The more he worked her pert breasts, the more she fought, begging to take control and speed her climax. Fenris growled again when she almost succeeded in throwing him off, but he was stronger than her and threw his weight into her as he ground his hard cock against the wet fabric of her skirt. “Fenris!” she cried in half demand and half whimper.

“Yes, my lady?” he teased with his velvet voice he now knew would make her melt. He slowly dragged kisses back up to her neck and sucked at her jaw waiting for her to answer. When the only responses were little sounds caught in her throat, he moved his cock against her again and bit her bottom lip. “Is there something you want?” He adjusted his hands so that one arm held down both of hers as his newly free hand ghosted down her side. She did not speak but bucked her hips causing him to lose enough balance for her to bring her legs around his waist and pull him back with a strength that hurt his sides. The motion forced him to release her hands and grab her thighs, fingers digging into the supple flesh.

Satisfied that she had the better hold, Hawke pulled her legs forward, forcing him to crash into her waiting lips and arms. As they renewed the intensity of their kiss, he felt her nimble fingers tug at the waistband of the sweatpants, stopped by the constraint of her wrap from pulling them free of her prize. He pressed up and pulled her free of the top, only pausing long enough to take in the smooth milk of her skin that flushed pink with the heat of arousal. His core burned and he wanted to take all of her, claim every bit of flesh as his. He let his hands roam madingley over every exposed surface as he shifted down her body to reveal more.

He didn’t bother to undo her skirt when he reached her hips, he just shoved it up and out of the way as his fingers curled around her underwear, yanking them down and eventually off her legs. She took the advantage as soon as her legs were free and tackled him to remove his pants with such a swift and smooth motion he wasn’t sure she had not cheated again. With his cock now free she grasped it with one hand and gave him a repeat of her wicked smile from earlier as her mouth took in the rest.

“Hawke!” he cried as her hot, wet mouth sucked his hard length. The vibrations of her purred response made his eyes roll back. As good as her mouth felt it wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t why he had restrained himself. After a few more strokes of her tongue, he bucked into her mouth causing her to pull back at the loss of her rhythm, and when her eyes met his, she understood what he wanted. Together they pulled her up to straddle him. She took a moment to get comfortable, and the agonizing wait of feeling her wet against his pulsing cock made him groan. She smirked down at him as she raised enough to slide him inside and then with a firm jolt, sank down until he filled her completely. They both cried out at the sensation as she opened for him and clutched greedily at his intrusion, his hands brushing her hips, her palms pressing against his chest as she rolled against him.

Their pace was frantic and frenzied, each releasing the pent-up desire they had held since that night on the patio. Every pull and push were a culmination of joined need and a promise for another. Her breasts bounced as she slid up and down his generous length. Fenris felt hot as the world faded away, leaving only her in his vision; raven hair tickling his face as she closed in for another round of breath play through a maddening kiss. When he felt his core burst with fire, her stride was not enough for him any longer. Holding her tight not to lose his position, he flipped their position until he could thrust deeper. He broke their kiss with a shout of her name, how tight she was, and how good she felt.

“Fuck!” she yelled as he drove into her harder and faster, holding her hips to keep her from sliding away from his passion. “Fenris - more!” she demanded as she ran her fingers through his hair and then down his back.

“Hawke, I’m close,” he strained to tell her as he rammed against her slick walls again and again.

“Come for me Fen, let it go,” she gripped him harder so he could not pull out to finish. As he rode the wave of his climax, he found it harder and harder to keep rhythm as there was less pressing down on them for leverage. He let the weightlessness surround him as he felt her tighten around his cock until finally, he spilled into her. Suddenly there were bright, jarring flashes and a sick cold against his skin. He felt lost and unsteady only brought back to the present by Hawke’s fists shoving - no beating, against his chest. He opened his eyes to see her struggling to get away, and not in a playful, teasing fashion like she had during their spar or when they fought for control of their kiss; she looked terrified.

He pulled out as quickly as he could and away from her, “Hawke, Hawke! Are you alright?” his voice rising in panic and she scrambled on her back to get away from him. The flush of arousal had disappeared, replaced by ashen white. He watched in horror as she turned and vomited on the floor. What had he done to hurt her, to cause this? She seemed fine until he came. He desperately racked his memory, trying to think of a time when someone had reacted this way to his climax. Of course, he huffed, there would be no memory, he had been tasked to give pleasure not receive. Had he let loose like he just had there would have been severe punishment.

He wanted to rush to her side and hold her, or at least her hair as she wretched on the floor. She was sobbing now, and her entire body seemed to shudder. He knelt helplessly a few feet away from her, too scared to move for fear of hurting her unwittingly again. Finally, her heaving stopped, and she caught her breath as she wiped her mouth. “What...what was that?” she asked in a raspy, shaking voice, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Fenris was speechless. He had no idea what she was talking about much less what could have caused her reaction. He reached out to her, but she recoiled from his touch and repeated her question. “Hawke, I’m sorry - I don’t…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The visions! What did I see Fenris?!” she was demanding answers he could not give.

“I don’t know!” he started to yell back in fear, stopping as he heard the volume and tone of his voice. “Please, Hawke,” he begged, his hands trembling, “I don’t know what you’re talking about if I did something - I am sorry. I never meant to…”

He watched helpless, as she tried to calm herself. Eventually, her breathing seemed to slow, and she sat upright, scooting away from the puddle of mess and leaning back against the bed frame. After a prolonged silence she looked at him; he did not hide the tears forming in his eyes or the quiver of his lips as he stared back at her in panic. “It’s okay. I’m alright,” she offered after a few more agonizing moments.

He didn’t believe her but could see that her coloring started to return. She reached her hand out for his, and he hesitated to take it. Terrified that his touch would cause her to go into another fit. She waited patiently until he tentatively let one finger at a time intertwine with hers. They both breathed out a heavy sigh when their hands fully clasped and she did not start convulsing again. After another breath, she pulled him closer until she was holding him in her arms.

“Fenris, I need to ask you a difficult question,” he could not see her face as she spoke and he swallowed hard, steeling himself for whatever was to come. He nodded. “How long ago did you get those markings?”

Was that the problem? His lyrium? “I’m not sure exactly; my memory is hazy at best. I don’t know much about my life before them, but I think about five years.”

“You lost your memory when you were marked?” she turned his face up to hers.

“Yes, I get flashes now and then of things that perhaps came before, but I cannot be sure without someone else to confirm. Like Hadriana and the story about me having a sister. She might be telling the truth, but I cannot be sure.” He wanted to give every bit of information he could think of to help her. He didn’t know the answer, but maybe he would say something inadvertently that she needed.

“I think I know what happened,” she stated absentmindedly as she released her arm from around him and moved to stand. Fenris watched motionlessly as she picked her old shirt off the bed and put it on, smoothing out her skirt to be presentable. She ran her fingers through her hair and let out a deep sigh. “I need to think,” she offered without looking at him.

“Hawke, what did I do?” he questioned.

“Nothing wrong, but I am overwhelmed and need to go home,” she answered as she turned to leave.

“Please, Hawke, do not go. Tell me what I can do to fix this?” he stood quickly and moved towards her, but she stepped away.

“This is not something that you can fix!” she yelled at him before composing herself again. “I closed the connection before we got physical but you…you opened it again. I need to understand…” she did not finish the thought. “I need to work through this,” she murmured almost imperceptibly as she walked out of the room.

Fenris sank to the floor, numb. His mind blank as he observed her flight. He had what he wanted in the palm of his hand, and now it ran from him in disgust. The reverberating thud of the front door slamming shut sent cold shards up his spine. The room began to spin around him, and he struggled to catch a breath, the clammy, cold feel of his skin returned with a vengeance.

He sat there, trance-like, for what seemed like hours. The sun fully set, and darkness poured in when he finally came out of his stupor. The fire had died, and the house was still and quiet around him. He startled when the ping of his mobile rang like an alarm across the room. The faint light was almost blinding to his unaccustomed eyes. With staggered and uncoordinated steps he made his way to the bedside table where his phone buzzed on the wood surface.

He could not read the name on the caller ID but answered as quickly as he could in case it was Hawke. A distinct voice came over the speaker, “Hello Fenris, enjoying your freedom? Apparently, you don’t play well with others. Such a shame, too; she was stunning.”

Fenris choked on the sound, as fear coursed through him, “Danarius!” he yelled to a response of laughter so loud that it hurt his ear.

“Did you think you could hide? You took something from me, and now you’ve compounded your treachery. I will have you - soon. Don’t bother changing your number; it will only briefly delay the inevitable. Besides, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your new friends would you?” Fenris could not bring himself to speak despite his desperate attempts to do so, the knowledge that Danarius knew about Hawke and had eyes on the house made him mute. Taking the silence as agreement, Danarius continued with a purr of delight, “good, my pet. Now, just wait a little longer, and you’ll be home. Good night little wolf.”


	7. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris must decide how he will respond to Denarius' threat.  
> The last chapter was super busy so we are gonna take a breather for this one.

His first instinct was to run, a default that was no longer an option, not when Danarius threatened others. Hawke and her band of deviants had helped him beyond measure without compensation or questions. He would not run until he knew they were not a target. He hastened to dress in his tactical gear as he debated what to do first. Danarius directly mentioned Hawke but she was powerful, and her house fortified. Fenris also doubted she would answer his call having left the way she did; the better option would be to call Varric and have him rally the troops.

As he slid one arm into his gun harness, the other swiped his contacts shortcut for Varric’s photo and hit the green dial icon. The phone rang consistently, but no one answered. The clock read just after midnight, the club doors were open, and the dance floor packed. Fenris paced as he considered what to do next. He checked his weapons and ammo, stored them in his harness, and grabbed a large cloak as he headed out the window of his room. If someone was watching the house, he hoped he could sneak across the alleys unseen.

He clung to the shadows of the buildings cast by the well-lit streets of Hightown. His target was less than half a mile walk, but it would take double that at least to sneak through back gardens. He was not even sure how to tell which house was the right one from the back walls. He hoped lights would be on and at least one window open for him to check. He bound over walls and ducked through hedges until he finally spotted what he considered to be his target destination. He mentally counted how many houses he had passed and re-checked the direction he traveled before scaling the largest stone wall yet. Its texture and height matched his memory, and the placement on his route seemed right. As he crested the top, he could see the large arched windows and knew he was in the right place.

He jumped down with muffled landing on the stone pavers and took a deep breath as he stood and steeled himself for a rough encounter. He cautiously approached the French doors, tentatively reaching out in anticipation of enchantment. His markings flashed, and he lowered his hand in relief. He stood back, arms extended to diminish any of her alarm at his unorthodox appearance in the garden. When Hawke did not appear after several minutes of waiting, Fenris checked the handle, and the door swung open readily.

His apprehension rose as he stepped into the well-lit expanse of her office. Unlike his last visit, no music played, and the quiet only fueled his fear. He scanned the room and saw no sign of disturbance or use. The bathroom door was ajar but dark. He gazed up to the loft and hesitated. She had asked him not to go up there, and he was not inclined to violate her space, but this was a matter of her safety, not his curiosity.

He shook his head, now swimming with unease and mounted the steps. Slowly he ascended the stairs, craning his neck to look around being the least intrusive as possible. Her loft came into view with solid walls of books. A large hammock looking bed, apportioned with several soft and comfortable looking pillows and blankets, hung suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the space. Art supplies, scrolls, maps, and thick leather-bound volumes littered the floor in various sized stacks.

He stood in awe at the top of the stairs as his face in watercolor stared back at him from an easel. The scene looked familiar, and he realized it had to be from his first days in the city. She had captured him expertly, drinking hot tea on a stool overlooking a merchant square from a favorite cafe. He wanted to reach out and touch it as if to bring the memory to life, wanting to know when she had seen him, or why she painted it, but he heard the soft snore of a person out of sight. Keeping his eye on the portrait as he walked around the bed he saw Hawke hunched over a desk, pen in hand, fast asleep. Her face was blotchy from crying and a damp, crumpled tissue poked out from her fist.

Her computer had gone to screen saver, a series of pictures of friends and family, but by the looks of her desk, she has been in an in-depth study when she fell asleep. Fenris pulled the pen from her hand and then knelt beside her, gently stroking her arm in an attempt to wake her in the least startling way possible. “Hawke,” he whispered, “you need to wake.” She did not stir. He tried twice more, louder each time until finally, her eyes fluttered.

“Fenris?” she questioned sleepily. He remained still as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

He let out a sigh of relief that she did not seem mad, but assumed she was still somewhat asleep. “You're in danger; Danarius has spies here.”

At that, her eyes went wide as she fumbled to stand. “He's here?” she hissed.

“I doubt it, but he called and knew about you. I came straight over via back gardens. He has eyes on my house.”

“Are you armed?” she asked. Her tone drenched in authority he had seen her wield previously, but an air of panic surrounded her.  
“Yes, I brought everything I could carry. I tried to call Varric, but he did not answer.”

“The club is probably at capacity, but I can call the doorman and get a message to him. Everyone else is likely to be there as well. Stay here for a moment while I make some phone calls, I'll be right back, and we can go over exactly what that asshat said.”

Fenris stifled a laugh at Hawkes chosen moniker, watching as she walked to the stairs and descended out of sight. He stood, eyes glancing over her desk as he used the corner for leverage. He could not decipher the material laid out, but he recognized old magic runes and the script of Tevinter texts. He thumbed through the documents; she had been taking copious notes in a weathered journal, some pages tear stained. He was still reviewing the strange markings when he heard a throat clearing from behind him.

“I have alerted the phone tree. Everyone will make their way here as inconspicuously as possible, but it will take awhile, which gives us an opportunity to talk.” Hawke gestured for him to sit in the armchair nestled in a corner reading nook. Fenris moved to sit as she climbed into her bed facing him letting her legs dangled over the side. There was a long pause when neither spoke: Fenris at a loss for what to say and Hawke unsure where to begin. “I will start with an apology, then an explanation,” she finally offered.

“I had hoped to have a few days to consider what I would say but here goes nothing. I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I know how I reacted when you did the same to me, I suppose I am lucky you did not knock down my door in retribution. You either have considerable restraint or…” she choked back the end of her sentence. Fenris watched her composure, she was calm but only just. When she looked at him for reassurance, he gave her a subtle dip of his head but did not speak.

“As for an explanation,” she paused and took a deep breath. “Varric has his suspicions that my gut instinct, as he calls it, is more, but I have never confirmed it. Since no one knows I have not allowed anyone to participate when I connect. I primarily use it as a cheat to read my surroundings be it friendly or hazardous. I do not pry into people’s personal lives or memories; I simply take a reading of their current thoughts or moods to help in the given situation.”

“My father is the only other person who I have connected with as I did with you. He was a mage and taught me everything I know, apart from this. He was dying and unable to speak,” Hawke’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I held him in my arms, and I told him I loved him. I wished the best for him in the never-ending Fade and flooded his mind with the best memories I could. In his last breath I got flashes of his memories - disjointed and jarring, and then he was gone.” A single tear fell down her cheek as she stared at her hands.

“I’ve never had training in how to share the connection. I know from experience and instinct it is better to focus on a single thought or event and go slow. What happened with my father was his free-form thought passing as he died. I knew from then it could be a two-way encounter but did not anticipate how strong it could be. The things I saw - that you showed me were unnerving. I wasn’t sure how to process them or my feelings about it. I was afraid that my magic would harm you and that I would lose control. I needed answers.”

“Have you found some?” he asked, nodding to her to her desk.

“I think so,” she responded, taking a relaxing breath and bringing her eyes to his. “I had severed the connection before we,” her hand gestured as if searching for the right word, “got physical,” she eventually added.

“You didn’t though,” he corrected. “There is a warmth when we connect; I felt the same in those last moments.”

Hawke nodded to herself. “It seems that you are either able to open the connection on your own or keep it open somehow,” she met his gaze with honesty. “You are not a mage, so I assume it has something to do with the lyrium in your tattoos. Either way, your mind emptied into our connection, and I saw...things. The flashes were sudden, like bolts of lightning, and just as striking.”

“What did you see Hawke?” his tone was controlled. He could easily guess what she saw by her reaction, but he wanted to hear it from her.

“You. The first images were mild. You seemed young, but then it turned dark.” She closed her eyes, and he could see her fighting back the memory of them. “I felt your pain...your fear...I saw him carve into you.” Her voice was shaking.

Fenris wanted to go to her and hold her, but news that he possibly could open a connection on his own made him stop. He did not want to hurt her or make her relive his most horrifying moments. He considered for a second and responded by default. “I am a problem. Not just for you but everyone. I have overstayed and put you all at risk. I will wait for your friends to arrive and formulate a plan for your continued safety, then I will leave.”

“Fenris, you do not have to do that; our contract included Danarius,” she looked hurt.

“And that was foolish. I struck a fruitless blow and grew complacent in the heady idea of reinforcements. I am better alone, and you will be safer.” He wrung his hands and stared at the floor. He was already making mental preparations for his escape when Hawke slipped her hand between his. He looked up startled and tried to recoil, but she held her grip firm.

“I do not want that,” she quietly offered. “If you will hear me out, I have a plan that will address both of our concerns. I asked you what you wanted earlier and said it was me. I would like to give that to you but I cannot if you doubt yourself and run.”

“Hawke… I,” he began but could not finish.

“I am no more in danger with you here,” she took back her hand and lifted off the t-shirt she was wearing. She stood so that his face was level with her hips, “do you see this?” She took his hand and ran his fingers along the lengthy jagged red scar. “It is from the Arishok’s blade gutting me and lifting me in the air until I slid down to him, skewered. I came very near death, but I won. I did this so Isabella would not suffer.”

Fenris wanted to run his hand along the exposed flesh and kiss every inch of the scar. He had heard rumors about the battle but did not know how costly it had been for her. Hawke was beautiful in her determination and strength but seeing such a mark brought to bear her fragility and softness. She was as compassionate as she was fierce and it took his breath away.

She brought her arm around so he could see marks on her bicep, “these are from when I was a child back in Ferelden. I defended my sister from a local bully.” She turned her back to him, “do you see twin scars just inside my shoulder blades? I took dual wielded knives to the back during a shake down of some unscrupulous merchants.” She pivoted to face him, “These are but a few. I am not fragile, nor am I afraid of death. It will come for me at some point; my only hope is that it is not in vain. Fighting for your freedom will never be fruitless, and if I die in the process, then it will certainly not be in vain.”

Fenris was speechless, his mind blank but for the thought of holding her again. He could not remember a time he had value outside his abilities or the lyrium in his skin. To have this woman, a Champion to her city, view his life as worthy of her own was beyond his comprehension at the moment. She had not run from him in disgust but in fear for his safety and well being. She was willingly touching him again, risking another brutal connection, sharing her past, and giving him her future.

“What do you want Fenris?” she asked on a patient breath.

His eyes searched hers for hesitation or deceit, knowing he would not find either. She had never lied to him, and he doubted she ever would. He once again had to choose between his heart and his head; the sting of the decision did not pale in its repetition. He took a deep breath and let himself fall into the words for the second time, “I want you.”

Hawke held out her hand; he took it and stood. She pulled him close, cupping his face in one hand, the other interlacing her fingers with his. “Will you let me give you what you want?” she whispered in a soft voice that made his knees buckle and his throat tighten. Summoning his courage to drown his doubt, he circled his free arm around her waist and kissed her with a tender passion. Hawke did not delay in returning the embrace, and his fear and reluctance melted once again as she threaded her fingers through his hair.

He poured his gratitude, relief, and admiration into her mouth with each press of his lips against hers. It was a kiss of longing and promise, without any of the hurried tension of earlier. It was slow and searching as much as comforting and reassuring. When Fenris finally broke away with another small kiss on her forehead, they remained still for several minutes longer, holding each other until the noise of an arrival floated up from below them. Hawke smiled at him and squeezed his hand before calling out over the railing. Anders’ voice answered, and she tugged at Fenris to follow her downstairs with a look that promised they would continue their conversation later. He nodded and let her go ahead, giving the painting another glance and making a mental note to ask her about it when things had calmed down.

“When Merrill arrives, I want the two of you to help me put up barriers around the property,” she instructed Anders as she greeted him. He nodded, grabbed a drink from her fridge and plopped down on the sofa to wait. Fenris, realizing he had forgone food for the majority of the day, followed Anders’ lead and helped himself to the stocked fridge and then moved to sit across from the mage on the other end of the large sofa.

The two sat in quiet while Hawke returned to her studies. Fenris did his best to ignore the man, only occasionally looking over when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. This time, it was not a movement but a sound, “you are pretty chummy with Hawke.” Fenris looked over to see Anders practically glaring as he reclined back and held his drink to his mouth to shield his snide commentary from her.

“Chummy? That is not the word I would use but feel free to describe what we have as you wish,” Fenris responded as if he had not a care in the world. He only looked at the man briefly before returning his attention to the art book in his lap; he was goading the mage and enjoying it.  
“You think you have something with her? You are nothing more than a stray she’ll take pity on for a few days.” Anders jeered.

Fenris let out an exaggerated sigh to demonstrate what a time waste it was for the man to talk to him, “then I am confused. If I am a stray as you say and she will throw me out in a few days, then you have nothing to fear and no reason to comment. Yet, there you sit, clearly perturbed by my company and our proximity.”

Anders sat up with a jolt, his hands gripping his drink so tight the can crumpled. Fenris chuckled and rolled his eyes then went back to flipping pages of the book. If the man wished to speak further, Fenris did not take notice. Soon enough everyone arrived and took a seat on the sofa. Carver was suspiciously absent, but Fenris preferred it that way.

Once Hawke had everyone’s attention she addressed them from her seat next to Fenris on the couch. “As you've heard, Danarius has made contact, but the threat seems more retaliatory than genuine. Fen, can you give us the details of the call and we'll go over the points one by one?” He nodded and recounted the exchange, only pausing occasionally to clarify to repeat as needed.

“He shouldn't have been able to get your number since you were using a burner phone,” Merrill was the first to speak and offer a shrewd observation. “He's revealed a lot by doing that and bragging he can do it again.”

“Kitten, you are so smart!” exclaimed Isabella. “Do you still have the phone?” she asked Fenris. When he nodded and pulled it from his pocket, she took it and looked it over, removing the battery and sim card to inspect it. “Do you remember what store you got this from?”

“Yes, do you think it will help?” he asked, woefully out of his depth when it came to technology.

“Depending on how long ago you got it, I can track down the sales reps. I'd bet tonight's winnings that Danarius has an inside man.” Varric whistled at the sound of the size of her bet. Fenris didn't understand the significance but took it to mean she was supremely confident in her assertion.  
“I purchased it a month ago,” supplied Fenris.

“Excellent! That should make it easier,” Isabella exclaimed eyeing him as if measuring to see if he would fit her.

“I'm concerned about the spy on the house. He may be just one of several,” Sebastian chimed.

“I agree,” replied Hawke.

“I can make the rounds from street and balcony level,” offered Sebastian. “Varric will you have time to scope from further afield?”

“Yeah, shouldn't be a problem. The club won't fall to pieces that quickly. I'll make sure to keep Cullen on retainer; he's so suspicious he'll act as a lookout without knowing it.”

“I'll rearrange patrols and keep my ear to the ground for any movement,” piped up Aveline.

“Avi, do you think you could dig up information on the number Danarius used to call Fen?” inquired Hawke.

“Not if it was international, but I could find that out at least.”

Fenris spoke up on this topic, “it was likely a borrowed line from an exempt source.”  
“Meaning…?” probed Aveline.

“An Ambassador or the like,” answered Anders refusing to look at Fenris. “It sounds like he needs time to recuperate his losses and is attempting his version of trash talk.” The group murmured amongst themselves on the topic before taking a consensus of agreement.

“So we're agreed this is a low-value threat at the moment, but we have some work to do pruning the hedges of Kirkwall,” surmised Isabella.

“I can help with that,” Merrill said excitedly clapping her hands.

“Yes, you can kitten,” Isabella encouraged as she wrapped an arm around Merrill’s shoulders.

“That still leaves us with the needed diversion at Fen’s place. I don't want to tip off our targets that we are aware of their presence,” Hawke reminded them.

“Problem is that there is no back way into his house like there is here,” Varric puzzled. “It will be difficult to keep up the ruse going in and out the front door.”

“I don’t see the benefit of a diversion. They know where he is and how to find him. We only need adequate preparation in case of attempted surprise.” Sebastian was always pragmatic and offered a counterbalance to Hawke’s more elaborate plans.

“Then it's settled, no diversion after all - straight bait and switch. I will stay with Fen at his place for the time being. Anders can keep an eye on things here.” Anders did not react well to Hawke’s assessment and announced intentions, but the group agreed that Fenris would need a bodyguard for the foreseeable future. Hawke was already a known target, so it made the most sense for her to continue in that role.

The group mingled for awhile longer, Anders and Merrill helping Hawke lay protective barriers around the house before returning to their own. Sebastian was the last to leave, only agreeing once Hawke promised she would have lunch with him the following day. When finally she closed the door to her suite, she left out a long sigh. It was after two in the morning and the last few days had been exhausting.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked Fenris as she pulled two mugs from the cabinet. He nodded and moved into the kitchen space to join her.

“Do you know I prefer tea over coffee?” he mentioned as his hand brushed over hers.

“Patience is not your strong suit is it?” she chuckled as she set the tea to steep. Fenris nudged her with his elbow; he wanted the story behind the painting and Hawke seemed to know already where he was going. “That night in the club was not the first time I had seen you, just the first I heard your voice.” Fenris looked at her, waiting for more. She sighed with slight annoyance, “I almost ran into you in the market that day,” her head gestured upwards to indicate the memory captured in beautiful vibrant colors. “I ended up following you for a bit, intrigued.” A slight blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“Stalking me and then devoting time to a painting sounds more than intriguing,” Fenris replied with the thick velvet of his deep voice.

Hawke shoved a mug into his hands and gave him a pointed look to drop the subject, “I have to pack if I am to babysit.” She walked passed him but smirked over her shoulder as she headed up to the loft. Fenris watched as her hips swayed with each step, his head tilting slightly to take in a better view.

When she was out of sight, he returned to the sofa to wait, spreading his tall frame along the plush cushions. It had been an emotionally trying day and the swing of the last few hours had his eyes drifting open and closed. When Hawke finally clambered down the stairs, bags of luggage dumped on the floor, Fenris was asleep. She pulled a blanket from the wicker basket near the fireplace and draped it over him, making sure to tuck in his bare feet. Sweeping a tendril of hair out of his face she kissed his cheek and wished him pleasant dreams; their plans could wait a day.


	8. Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke makes plans which include Fenris.

Fenris woke to the sound of clinking metal and instinctively reached for his gun, only for his hand to smack hard against an unknown surface. He sat up with a start and groaned as he took in his surroundings, feeling ridiculous as he rubbed his sore knuckles from their impact with Hawke’s coffee table.

“Morning sleepy head,” Hawke called to him from the kitchen where she and Orana finished setting the table for brunch. The smell of freshly baked bread, ripe berries, and seasoned egg wafted to him and beckoned him to rise.

“What time is it?” he asked, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

“Just after eleven, but don’t worry, the day will not escape us.” Hawke smiled with confidence as Orana passed him a mug of hot tea.

Fenris pulled out a chair and sat down. “Does your staff not join you for meals?” he asked as he noticed the new maid slink out of the room.

Hawke looked up confused stopping mid swipe of the butter across her bread. “Now that you mention it,” she said as she resumed her spread, “they do not. I am rarely at home at appropriate times, and if I am, I have company.” She took a bite of her buttered bread and murmured to herself, “I should work on that.” The meal passed in relative silence as Hawke seemed to stew on Fenris's observation as if it were a personal challenge.

He watched her expressions shift and change with the whims of her thoughts; it was, to him, a dance no different from that with her training dummies. His chest swelled with pride knowing that not only did she listen to him but she took him seriously. He had always been forced to follow others but now that he had the opportunity to choose he considered whether he might enjoy it for once.

When the last of the food cleared their forks, and each poured one more mug of tea, the hum of new conversation began to rise. Hawke announced her plans to stay with him for the next week and that she had spirited her luggage to his house during the night. She advised that they should return to his home via the same route he had taken previously once night fell. “Am I to be under house arrest?” Fenris asked as he cleared his dishes.

Hawke laughed as she started to wash the dishes by hand, “the reverse actually. I will hide in your home as a trap to any would-be attackers while you are free to carry about your life. It is far more likely if you are to be attacked it will be in the privacy and control of your house rather than the bustle of a busy street. Anders will stay here pretending that I am too scared to leave.”

“Will he be here today while we wait?” Fenris tried in vain to conceal his displeasure at the idea of spending more time with the man while he dried the freshly cleaned dishes.

“Goodness no,” she scoffed. “I would rather keep my house intact. He is not skilled at holding his tongue, and I do not know how long you can refrain from throttling him. His ‘chummy’ comment was only the tip of the iceberg.” Fenris’s eyebrow raised at the mention of the verbal spat. “Oh, you did not think I heard. That's amusing,” she hummed. “Do me a favor and do not let on how much I know. With Anders, a subtle, patient, observant approach works best.”

“You have my silence” he supplied quickly, then after a pause, he added, “is there anything else you wish?”

She tossed aside the towel she used to dry her hands and placed her hand on her jutted out hip. Fenris felt his knees buckle slightly at her pose, it displayed her curves perfectly, and he loved the confidence that almost beamed from her. “Train with me.”

“Will you cheat again?”

Hawke crossed her heart with her finger, “I will not cheat with magic. I want to know more about grappling. In our fight in the slave den, I watched how seamlessly you adapted to the situation. I can do that to an extent, but I would like to have some skills that do not rely on magic.”

Fenris agreed, once again impressed that a mage of her caliber found value in base abilities. He followed her outside to her training area and took stock of the equipment to develop a teaching plan. “The new tree fits in nicely; you can barely see the scorch mark on the stones behind it.”

Hawke whipped her head around to investigate the area. “You liar!” she accused. “You had me seriously worried for a moment. I have not had collateral damage since I was a child.”

Fenris’s jaw dropped, “you are serious? You have that much control?”

“Yes,” she answered nonplussed. “I only burned the tree itself. The pot for this tree is the same as the last one too.”

“We can use that control,” he mused as he took a stance and began her instruction. Hawke was a quick study, pinning Fenris twice in their first hour.

“How much are you holding back?” she asked as she helped him stand.

“Enough to keep it challenging for you but not enough to discourage.” He brushed dirt from his clothes while she took a swig from her water bottle.

“You've taught before,” she deduced. Fenris only nodded and began circling her, ready to start again. Hawke to it as her cue to drop the subject. Their next several rounds were more intense as he repeatedly brushed past her attempt at defense to hold her, pin her, and ground her in quick succession.

Sweat soaked her clothes, and her chest heaved under the labor of desperate breath, but he would not relent until she asked for it. They had been training for a few hours, and he knew they were both at their limit; he would have to force her to capitulate. He swung his arm on her right and a spark lit in Hawke’s eye as she anticipated the strike, believing she would finally make a breakthrough and gain the upper hand.

She seemed pleased with herself up to the moment when she began falling backward. Her face contorted in confusion as the garden around her spun until she was face down in the dirt with a knee in her back. Fenris chuckled above her as she pounded her fist in defeat. “Do you relent?” he asked still laughing.

“Never,” she yelled defiantly with half her face obscured.

He dug the bone of his knee into her back and pulled her arm at an unnatural angle causing her to wince in pain, “do you relent?” he asked with a firmer tone.

She squirmed underneath him only to feel his grip strengthen, “never.”

Fenris growled, and then the weight of his chest replaced the pressure of his knee on her back. “You will yield,” he replied with a whisper on hot breath in her ear. There was a substantial pause before she finally silently agreed. Fenris waited a moment and then dragged himself off her body and lifted her to stand. Neither had to say a word to understand the lesson was over for the day.

“You are an excellent teacher,” Hawke offered, cutting the tension as they walked back inside. “I wonder how you are as a student.”

“I imagine it depends on the subject.”

“Reading,” she replied, not stopping to see his reaction as he halted in the doorway. Not until she had cracked open two bottles of cold pressed vegetable juice from the fridge did she notice that he had not moved. She sipped her bottle and gestured to his in peace offering for obviously transgressing on a sensitive subject. “It's not obvious,” she added, “if that is your concern.”

Fenris took a deep breath and relinquished himself to the idea that she was offering to teach him to read. He joined her in the kitchen and took the juice with a tip of his head to her in silent thanks and acknowledgment of her keen observations. “How did you know?”

“Your lack of reaction to the contents on my desk.”

His head tilted and eyes narrowed as he tried to remember what he had seen. “You refer to the runes and Tevinter texts?”

“If you agree to lessons it is a good start to know you can already recognize the character and shape of written language, but in answer to your question, yes. I was concerned when I saw you reviewing my notes, that you would think I was trying to replicate the Magisters.” She cast her eyes down expecting him to react harshly but he only leaned back against the counter to relax.

“You said you were looking for answers. The roads of magical knowledge lead to one of two places, the Imperium is one of them.”

She brought her eyes to his, and he tried his best to maintain an encouraging expression. He did not want to scare her off from confiding in him about such issues. He was confident she could not be as easily corrupted as others, but the danger was always there. It would be better for him to know where on the road she was in case the worst came to pass.

“Thank you,” she touched his arm, “I can only imagine the trust you must place with me to be comfortable with that.” She turned and walked to the bathroom, clicking on the light and leaving the door open. Fenris continued to drink his juice as he could hear her drawing a bath. “Join me,” she called to him, her voice uncharacteristically minute as she poked her head through the opening in the door.

“Do you think that wise?” he asked walking closer. He remembered distinctly the last time he saw her in the bathroom, but he also remembered the look of fear radiating from her as she scrambled to get away from him. Her invitation would lead them to a place that could cause a repeat of images.  
“Yes and no. What would you say if I told you I did not care?” She looked at him with resolve. She was not scared of the possibility nor would she let it keep her from him.

“You are the most amazing woman I have ever met,” he replied with a shrug and a smile as he began to peel off his shirt.

“Banking points for later?” she splashed a bit of water on his pants to hasten his undress from her seated position in the tub.

He swatted away the droplets and continued to strip, “I don't think that's necessary do you?” He gave her a smirk as he shoved off the shirt to reveal his tan chiseled chest. He would have to be blind to miss the glimmer in her eye as he moved to unbuckle his belt.

“Don't rest on your laurels just because you scored one time,” she teased.

With a fling of his wrist, he pulled his belt free in one fluid motion and let it drop beside him as he bent over the tub. His face hovering just off hers as if to kiss her, he instead flicked her forehead and promptly stood back up to remove his trousers.

“Did…did you just flick me?” she asked indignantly, rubbing the pink spot on her forehead.

“Did I misunderstand?” he quipped. “I thought engaging in childish flirting was your way of lightening the mood.” His trousers fell to the floor revealing his toned legs and a pair of new skin-tight black boxer briefs that hugged his curves, courtesy of Varric’s provided supplies. Hawke huffed and sank into the water to hide the blush on her cheeks. Her eyes never left him as he pulled free of the underwear and stepped into the tub with her.

“I have questions,” she finally said raising her mouth just above the water line.

“Here? In the bath?” he was more than surprised. “Ask away, I’ll answer as best I can, but I have a few as well.”

“Fair enough. We can take turns,” she remarked, sitting up, the curve of her breasts creating two crests in the water. Fenris nodded in agreement. “How do you feel knowing I have seen your past?”

He made a tsk sound with his tongue at the question, unsure how to respond. He had not given it much thought, too concerned with her well-being rather than his own. “If I had to condense it into an emotion I would say it is a cross between nervousness and embarrassment. Nervousness because I don’t know what all you saw, how it affected you, or what you think about me as a result. Embarrassment because I’m ashamed of who I was and the things I did.”

“I can address that. I was overwhelmed and ran. I kept thinking about my father, you, and what I saw. I do not feel comfortable when I am not in control of my mind, it's dangerous for a mage, and having those images replay in my mind on their own was maddening. I was scared of not only about what I saw but about how you would react to knowing what I saw.”

“What about what you saw in the flashes?”

She moved in the water to be closer to him, “I did not see or understand enough to speak intelligently, but I do know that Sebastian once said that the sin rests in the command not the action in the case of master/slave.” She took his hand in hers, “Although I don’t think anything I say will stave your shame or embarrassment, I would like to try.”

He squeezed her hand, “I am afraid to touch you, especially in the bath, it's warm and weightless already. I may not know the difference between the connection and reality if we get wrapped up at the moment.”

“That segues to another of my questions. How would you feel about connecting with me again?”   
The look of concern on his face was readily apparent. “We would start slow and controlled with strict parameters for both our safety, but if we can harness it, and I think we can, then it would be an undeniable boost in combat.”

Fenris took a turn to sink in the water, trying to weigh the options presented. “What parameters did you have in mind?”

“Well, how familiar are you with BDSM?”

“Are you asking me to be your dom or your sub?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

She laughed at his question. “Either really, the joys of switching are for another discussion,” she winked at him. “What I am proposing is a simple system like the tricolor often used to encourage, pause, or stop a session. We can start with practicing color projection until we are comfortable that we can call upon it in an instant to communicate our needs without effort.”

“You have thought about this quite a bit haven’t you?” He raised back out of the water, more confident in her idea.

“You’ll learn soon enough that when something is important to me, I tend to withdraw until I have puzzled out the solution. Finding a way to be near you, share with you, and have you trust me was too important to rush, but I am sorry I did not communicate that to you at the time.”

“You were overwhelmed; I understand,” he pulled her to him until their legs were wrapping around each other. “It also might be nice to have a connection for those moments like earlier. To say with an image that which would take us too long with words and courage to muster.”

“Then you’re okay with connecting again?”

“Yes, but…” he brought his face within a breath of hers, “not at this moment.”

“Not until you're ready,” she replied as she brought her lips to his.

Their kiss was tentative and chaste. Slowly he pressed into her and let his hands find hers in the water. She matched his motion after a moment, not fighting for control or lead. He drew her in closer and angled for a better position as the tip of his tongue slid across her bottom lip, seeking permission to enter. She breathed in sharply but opened for him, letting her tongue remain limp to wait for his.

Hawke tasted of apples and whiskey just as she had the first time they kissed. The thought sent fire through his veins and a moan to his chest. The novelty of their pairing would forever remind him of her. The water was warm, but he could feel the hard surface of the tub underneath him, and he anchored to the feeling to ensure they did not get carried away. Her soft skin made more supple from the water was hard to grasp as his hands reached down her back, seeking the dome of her ass. Feather-light caresses and strokes replaced the rough nails and clawing of last time. The intimacy heightened by their turmoil made every gesture, regardless of innocence, that much more sensual.

Finding the grip he wanted, he lifted her enough to roll her hips forward, creating friction against his length. Her arms renewed their embrace around his back as her breasts pressed against his chest. He snaked his fingers in the valley of her curves until the warmth of the water became hot and the feeling more viscous. Hawke broke the kiss with a hard breath and pushed her hips back against his hand. Fenris kissed her cheek and probed deeper with his fingers until he could feel the firm and pliant muscles of her inner walls. She grunted as he began to rub against her lining, letting his fingers curl slightly as he worked at a slow pace.

“Fenris,” she panted. “As much as I want this, we…” she could barely speak for his movements, “need to take precautions.” She finished the sentence on a cry as he removed his hand.

He took her face in his free hand and began kissing her again with generous reverence. “I will do anything you ask.”

“Take me to bed,” she breathed against his lips. “I have supplies upstairs.”

Fenris tracked kisses down her neck to her arm before taking her hand and helping her slide back in the tub for a better position to stand. He placed one last kiss on her hand as he climbed out of the tub to fetch towels and help her dry. Once neither was dripping wet, he wrapped a towel around her tightly and pulled her to his lips once more. When she tried to pull him back towards the bedroom, he scooped her up in a cradle hold and carefully carried her to the base of the stairs.

Hawke’s unspoken promise of letting him set the pace began to lose conviction as he progressed slowly, gently, timidly, after her up to her loft. She began to pull, and her grip started to mingle with the sharp curve of her nails. He would be lying to say he didn’t enjoy her blatant display of desire and knowing it was for him was a rush that he wanted to experience at every opportunity. He had no idea what future they could have, but he would do anything to make sure one existed.

Once upstairs, she pulled him to the bed and beckoned for him to sit as she retrieved a box from one of the bookshelves. She stood between his legs while she drew out what she wanted, Fenris patiently stroked her outer thighs with feather-light touches. The sound of torn crinkled foil accompanied her drop to her knees as she took his hard cock in one hand, lapping broad strokes with her tongue before rolling the condom down.

Fenris groaned at the feeling of her hands and mouth working together and stood, bringing her lips to his. With thoughts of having her in his arms daily, fighting along her side, and connecting to her in secret, Fenris again picked her up in a cradle hold without warning. Keeping their tongues intertwined he turned to lay her down on the bed with utmost care until the position forced him to part from her. “Hawke, this bed is ridiculous. Will it support the both of us?”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes as she reached to bring him down to her. “And do not prejudge my bed. It is not only an improvement from your floor, but it far surpasses any in which I have ever slept.”

“I apologize my lady. I did not realize you intended to sleep,” Fenris quipped as he adjusted his weight to her side, sliding his hand between her wet folds once more and nipping at her neck. Hawke yelled loudly but did not protest his movement. He drew lazy circles against her clit with his thumb while his fingers danced within her. Peppering her chest with kisses and flicks of his tongue, he continued to work until she melted beneath him.

Neither could contain their voice as they rang out in-house shattering unison when he finally sank into her core hilt deep with one swift thrust. As much as he loved hearing her scream his name as he drove into her, hitting that one position that made her knees turn to jelly, he wanted to soak his tongue in the taste of her whiskey and apples.

As his pace quickened his thoughts turned to distracting images of their last time together, and he found himself faltering as she pulsed underneath him, near her climax. Sensing his hesitation, Hawke offered instruction on alternate breaths. “We aren’t connected,” a pant and breath. “The warmth is only our body heat,” a moan and roll of the hips. “You aren’t weightless,” a firm grip on his neck to pull him to a last searing kiss before she cried out and he felt her core tremble in the release.

Repeating her words in his head like a mantra, he chased after his own with renewed vigor until he came with a cry of her name. Before he could fully ride the wave, she pulled him into a kiss but more than passion, he felt relief. She wasn’t beating to get away from him or crying or vomiting on his floor. She was holding him with all of her strength and rolling her tongue against his with soft whimpers of satisfaction. He finally had to push away from her to breathe with a mental note to start swimming regularly. She let him escape only enough to find leverage to flip them until she pinned him beneath her.

“You are incredible!” she exclaimed as she smothered him in affection.

“Hawke,” he tried to pry her loose, “Hawke!” She picked her head up quickly and gave him a pout for the interruption, but her expression broke into a smile as she sank back down, resting her head on his chest.

“I’m sorry, it's just this is the ending we were meant to have and I got excited. I only have so much restraint, you know.” She spoke as she swirled circles against his skin with her finger.

He laughed, “I think my door knows better than anyone, but you’re right - it is a relief to know I can touch you without sending you into a fit.”

“Well we won’t know for sure without further practice,” her voice dripped with sarcasm and lustful promise, “assuming your stamina can keep up.”

“You will always have a scheme won’t you?”

She sat up on the accusation, “a scheme? Hardly! My plans are methodical and organized.”  
He pressed up on his elbows to give her a look of disbelief and feigned annoyance.

Fenris growled low and wrapped his arms around her in rolling her to her back, “my stamina is much higher than you have prepared for.” She squealed in delight as he began to fondle her again, taking his hands off of her only long enough to dispose and replace the condom on his hardening cock. Eventually they would slow their pace and pleasure each other in less penetrative ways, but for now, neither wanted anything else than the mad propulsion of him inside her.

Their second round was more frantic and fast as Fenris let his inhibition of harming her fade into nothing with each thrust. Her moans mixed with gasps and grunts made him want to push as far as he could within her, and the roll of her hips helped him achieve his goal. Quickly the head of his length began to jam against her core and the meager pain it brought them both failed to diminish their bruising embrace.

When they finally parted, out of breath and this time thoroughly detangled from one another, each had bruises forming in conspicuous places. Hawke laughed when she saw the large discolored mark on his neck when he stood to stretch. “Those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,” was the only response he would give her, prompting her to bolt to a mirror only to find a matching mark but much richer in color against her pale skin.

“I’ll have to cancel more than my lunch dates with Sebastian,” she remarked as she walked back to the bed.

“I have no intention of apologizing,” he replied with a smoky look of pride in his eye.


	9. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigation begins into the mystery of the Magister's call.

The return trip to Fenris’ estate was largely uneventful. A pair of small yapping dogs were the only cause for brief alarm as he and Hawke snuck through the De Launcet’s back garden. Hawke was still giggling to herself as they climbed into the window of Fenris’ bedroom. “You should not have done that,” Fenris scolded her.

“They are no worse for wear, just quieter,” Hawke defended herself brushing off leaves and dirt from their climb.

“There is only one loose mage in this neighborhood. Do you think it will take them long to deduce how their dog's tongues became frozen?”

“It won’t matter, they will defrost by morning, and no one will be the wiser,” she said confidently.  
Fenris rolled his eyes.

“What now?” he asked looking around the room, “you have a plan, I presume?”

“Of course,” she beamed at him and made for the landing. “You will give me a tour, and I will put shielding wards up as we go. I don’t want to do anything too strong but enough to give us a warning and to make their entry aggravating.” She waved her hands around in a delicate pattern that reminded Fenris of the meditative arts he practiced each morning.

“What can I do?”

“You can haul my luggage up from your entry hall. Bodahn and I snuck it over last night while you slept.” She paused and rummaged in her pocket until she produced a set of shiny brass keys on a keychain. “I had Isabella’s contacts install a new lock on your doors as well. I’ve marked which key is to which door. She and Varric assure me these are nigh-unbreakable.”

Fenris took them from her and marveled at the feel of them in his palm. He had never had such a gift, and the novelty swallowed him. Keys were an essential element of independence. More than opening doors to homes and travel, they signified ownership and privacy. Things he had never had before Hawke. “Thank you,” he said in a voice almost a whisper as a warmth encompassed him. “Hawke - I know you are here,” he said in his mind as he looked at her. Her eyes grew wide, and she yipped like the dogs when caught.

“I’m sorry. You grew quiet, and I guess it's habit. I will stop and ask permission before I do it again.” She huffed apologetically, clearly annoyed with her lack of discipline.

Fenris chuckled. He loved the micro-expressions she gave. He wondered how much he could read because of their connection versus merely being observant. “I appreciate the offer, but as I recall the goal is to be able to connect full time without effort.”

“Yes, but we can start that training tomorrow. This area should be safe enough for now, and I doubt anyone will be ready to attack so quickly. Danarius may be powerful, but even his reach requires preparation. For now, I suggest we unpack, clean up a bit, and then get some sleep; connecting will require more energy than you suspect,” she said with a wink.

“Clean up?” he asked confused.

She nodded her head and walked down the stairs, “We will start in your bedroom and bathroom for now and then do a little more each day.”

“Do I have a say in this?” he asked tempting fate as he surveyed the large pile of luggage and boxes cluttering his hallway. “Just how much did you bring anyways?”

She held up her hand with one finger pointed, “first, no you do not have a say. You asked for assistance, and you will get it. If you think I am going to stay in a dust-ridden hovel just because you distract me with that voice of yours, you have another thing coming.” Fenris gave her a knowing look; he liked the idea that he could distract her. “Oh no you don’t,” she responded. “You keep your come-hither green eyes in check Messere. We have work to do.” He chuckled and feigned innocence.

“Secondly,” she held up two fingers, “I brought as much as required to furnish your home for a week. We don’t need to bring all the boxes; just the ones marked bedroom. I have fresh sheets, towels, blankets, and pillows. This place is less than hospitable, so I doubted there would be a linen closet or spare room available. I assume you are okay with us sharing a bed?”

Fenris looked startled for a moment as her words ran through his head. How his fortunes had changed, he thought as he looked around. Danarius was still on the loose, but they had a plan of action. The torment of his dreams had turned more into visions of bliss, and there he stood in the hall of his house, with keys, and a woman who would help him turn it into a home. Hawke was supremely confident that they would triumph and did not seem fazed by the prospect that all their cleaning or domesticity could be for naught.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it as he took a deep breath. She seemed to understand, and warmth followed her return grasp. “Hawke - I,” he was at a loss for words even within his mind. A silent moment, connected and still, then a refreshing cool wave of relief washed over him replacing the heat.

“I am confident you will be completely free Fenris,” she said allowed. “Until then I will endeavor to make your house a home, your life a blessing, and you as happy as possible...if you will allow it.”

He held her hand up to his cheek and nuzzled against her palm. Her skin felt cool like her replenishing magic, and he could hardly believe that not only did he welcome it, he craved more. “I would like that very much,” he said and the cool feeling slowly faded. He kissed her palm and let it fall as he grabbed up as much of the luggage as he could carry.

“How can you tell when I connect with you?” she asked as they made the trip back to his room.

“It’s a feeling,” he answered with a grunt as he set down the pieces. “Your healing magic feels cool, like a mountain spring or a crisp fall morning. When you connect, it is warm like the indirect heat of an oven.” Hawke looked bewildered. “Come to think of it; you’ve been spying in my head since we first met haven’t you?” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. She turned quickly to a large suitcase and unzipped it, busying herself with unpacking. “Hawke…” he called to her but she shook her head and pretended not to hear; he laughed to himself and helped her unpack.

When the room was dusted and swept, towels and toiletries in the bathroom, and clothes hung in the wardrobe; they collapsed onto the fresh sheets of the bed. Fenris was exhausted, and the soft linens and pillows called for his slumber. He pulled Hawke up until her back was nestled against his chest, his arms curved around her waist and under her neck. “Thank you,” he whispered as he closed his eyes and fell asleep with a peace blanketing his senses. His dreams were peaceful, demons held at bay by an unknown force despite a lack of alcohol. By the time he woke the next morning he was rested and had no memories of his time in the Fade.

He was alone in the bed, the sheets where Hawke had slept were cold. Fenris rolled onto his back and shielded his eyes from the sunlight with a forearm. He smacked his tongue in his dry mouth and willed himself to sit up. He stretched as he stood and padded to the bathroom to freshen for the day. Once presentable he descended the stairs where he could hear a faint voice coming from the Library. He followed the sound to find Hawke on the phone and sifting through papers she had laid out on the floor, having apparently cleaned the library while he slept. She looked up when he walked in and put a finger to her mouth to encourage his silence. She continued to listen to the speaker on the other end as she stood and walked to him, holding the phone out as he kissed his cheek and gave him a look that sought permission to connect; Fenris nodded.

“I’m on the phone with Aveline; she has some good news. Let me finish here, and we can make brunch,” her words sang to him. He nodded and headed out to the kitchen. As he put the tea kettle on the stove, he wondered if it was an abuse of power to have simple conversations with the connection, but decided that there was little harm to justify hindering such a convenience. By the time the kettle squealed, Hawke had rounded the corner and jumped up to sit on the counter.

“Aveline, says the number Danarius used checks back to a local import/export company. She is going to give the address and information to Isabella, so hopefully, we will have some news by tonight. Like you, Isa is not an early riser. I would pay good money to have a video of her apartment if Aveline wakes her,” she said with a laugh.

“Usually I am an early riser, years of habit die hard unless I am with you it would seem,” he said slightly insulted at any suggestion that he was lazy. “What is on our agenda while we wait for our spies to do their work?” He handed her a mug of tea and stood between her legs as they spoke.

“We start your training, maybe a few reading lessons, and...if you will...teach me more hand to hand combat,” she locked her ankles around his waist.

“You want me to teach you?” he asked surprised and impressed that she would devote time to basic non-magic related skills, laying a hand on her thigh.

“I got the feeling that you have had a bad experience with that role and given my tendency to cheat I don’t blame you.”

Fenris watched her face for a hint of hidden expression but found only sincerity and embarrassment. “I think it would be a good idea and you will be unlike any trainee I have had. I am not worried about your magic use; I am accustomed to mages cheating.” The sound that followed his words was unmistakable, and he instantly knew that he had said the wrong thing. Their connection training could not come faster he thought as he set down his mug and cradled Hawke’s face in his hands and brought her forehead to his.

“I did not mean that the way it sounded, I apologize. I meant to say you will not catch me off guard in a spar because I have seen much worse. It is understandable to reach for what is natural and easy when stressed or threatened. You will reach for your magic without thinking despite your desire not to do so.” He pushed her back enough to lock her eyes with his, “I am not scared of you or your magic, and we will be fine. Do you trust me?”

She nodded but seemed to remain on edge for a considerable portion of the day. When Isabella called in the late afternoon, it was a welcome break from the tension he had been unable to shake. “Hey, sweet thing, how is married life treating you?” Isabella teased.

“Isa, you’re on speaker phone,” Hawke answered dryly.

“Not how I imagined our first threesome but practice makes perfect.” Hawke groaned and rolled her eyes; Fenris chuckled.

“Just tell us what you found,” pleaded Hawke.

“Fine, but just so you know Fen if you get bored I am -”

“Isa! The point! Find it,” Hawke interrupted.

“Ugh, you’re no fun. You know Hawke, a good friend shares their new toys, especially with friends who uncover secret hideouts.”

“What did you find?” Fenris asked.

“Merrill and I went to the phone store, and this lovely chap named Steve was very helpful. You should have seen Merrill distracting the other sales rep, she was so cute, and he was so flustered. She had him explain the differences between smartphones no less than three times, and she is so genuine I wasn’t even sure how much she was actually curious.”

“I’m sure she did a great job; what did Steve say?” asked Hawke impatiently.

“Fen, why are Hawke’s knickers in a bunch? What’s the point of being cooped up together if you’re not releasing tension?” Isabella asked annoyed.

“I’m afraid it is my fault. I am not always the best at expressing myself,” he looked at Hawke as he spoke, willing her to understand and let them start fresh.

“Hawke, cut him a break would you? Who cares if he made some stupid remark about your magic, he is still there! You’re wasting a good time and if you won’t devote proper attention to his tight...what color are your undies Fen?”

“Wouldn’t you rather guess?” he asked teasingly, winking at Hawke who looked shocked at the gesture.

“Just how do you know he slighted my magic?” she asked the phone.

“What else would turn you sour enough not to want to ravish that sculpted god? Please tell me they are animal print?” Isabella begged.

“No,” answered Hawke quickly and Fenris smiled. “What did Steve say?”

“Hmmm,” replied Isabella with a pause. “He said a man with no name came into the store a few months ago and paid him a lot of money to keep a lookout for someone fitting Fenris’ description and email the number and sim card info if Fen bought a phone. The email address was generic and temporary.”

“Did he describe the man?” asked Fenris with apprehension.

“It wasn’t Danarius. I pulled the Magister’s picture from the Imperial Senate website and showed it to Steve,” said Isabella with an apologetic tone. Fenris slumped in his chair unsure if he should be relieved or worried that Danarius had not been in Kirkwall.

“What did you say about a hidden base?” asked Hawke.

“Oh yeah, so Aveline gave me the address to an import/export company based in Hightown. Danarius used one of their phones to call Fenris. Did you tell her to arrive at that maker-awful hour, Hawke?”

“First, eleven thirty is not too early to get out of bed, and no I did not tell her to go wake you up. I would not have missed that for the world. Second, do we know if the phone was a landline or a cell?” asked Hawke, fully immersed in the mystery. Fenris was pleased, at least she had something else to focus on, rather than his stupidity.

“She hit me in the head! I had a bump and everything. Poor Kitten walked in on me muttering to myself, probably thinks I’ve gone bonkers - I don’t know if the phone was mobile or not and Aveline can’t find out more without raising flags. I’m planning on going back over there tonight for a bit of sneak and peek. I...wait a tic Hawke, Varric wants to say something.”

Fenris could hear muffled sounds through the phone before Varric’s voice came through. “Hawke, Choir Boy and I turned up nugshit in our search today. Whoever Danarius has hired they aren’t in place yet or have already fled,” he sounded disappointed.

“Did you see cameras? Is it possible they could have accessed the city’s security feed?” asked Fenris. One of Danarius’ favorite movies had been about a rogue spy and Fenris had been made to sit through it enough times to recount the dialog in its entirety.

“Nice one Broody. I did not see anything out of the ordinary, but if they went that route then there would not be anything for us to see.”

“Do we have someone that can check?” Fenris asked Hawke hesitantly.

“Isabella is good at data retrieval, but Merrill is our go-to for hacking,” she answered quietly with a furrowed brow, but then reached out and took his hand and nodded her head; Fenris breathed a little more comfortable.

“Speaking of Daisy, Rivani has more info she wants to share,” replied Varric with more muffling.

“Just put the phone on speaker Varric,” instructed Hawke and with that, the muffling stopped, and a chorus of ‘hi’ came from various voices.

“Fenris, how are you holding up?” came the brogue of Sebastian.

“I am well. This is all new to me, and I appreciate everything you are doing,” said Fenris with as much heartfelt sincerity as his voice could carry.

“We will continue our search with diligence Fenris. Keep your head up. The Chant tells us -”

“Baty, I adore you, but please, we are on pins and needles here. What is the story about a secret base?” interrupted Hawke. Fenris could hear soft chuckles emitting from the phone.

“I followed the owner of that company as he did some shady walking around your neighborhood. He took a phone call and then headed straight for Bartrand’s haunted house. I couldn’t see what he did, but no one answered the door, those nice hedges lining your streets only conceal so much. I didn’t see anything large in his hands. I think he likely dropped off something like a thumb drive.” Isabella seemed sure of her assessment.

“Varric, who bought the house?” asked Hawke.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Varric answered with a waiving tone. “Look I’m sorry, you know how long that house sit on the market? When someone made an offer, I jumped at it.”

“You did not think it suspicious that a buyer was willing to pay full price at such a time?” Sebastian’s query came through the phone.

“Yeah, but I didn’t care. I was just glad to be rid of it,” answered Varric sheepishly.

“I found something,” pipped Merrill’s high voice. “Aveline sent the link for the house registry, and it has blueprints!” she said excited, Hawke joined her.

“We know the house well, why are we excited about blueprints?” asked Isabella.

“Because this is a town built on slavery and most houses like mine had underground passages that made shipments easier. It is unlikely the passage will appear on any official documents, but original blueprints might reveal something.” There was a long pause on the phone as everyone seemed to wait for Fenris reaction.

“The same is true in Minrathous,” he offered to appease their apprehension. “Who bought the house Merrill?  
“Someone named Gereon Alexius.” Fenris froze, his mind running the name over and over in his memory.

“Do you know him?” asked Hawke.

“I think so,” answered Fenris. “If it is the same man then the house is connected to Danarius. Do you see anything on the blueprints Merrill?”

“Nothing yet, but it's a large house,” she answered.

“Look for something like a misplaced closet or oddly positioned door frame near the kitchen. It's likely on the ground floor. Mine is attached to the kitchen,” offered Hawke. “Varric can you do recon on Bartrand’s estate? Merrill, we also need you to dig up any info that might reveal a digital trail to Danarius.” Hawke had the beginnings of a game plan forming in her head, and Fenris watched with awe as her mind jumped into action.

“I’ll head back to the import/export company and see what else I can find,” offered Isabella.

“Take Choir Boy with you,” suggested Varric. “It doesn’t hurt to have back up Rivani.” Fenris could just hear a soft acceptance from Sebastian. Images of Isabella stuffing the man’s face in her chest came to mind as everyone bid their goodbyes and good lucks.

“I’ll have to check on him later,” said Hawke with a sigh as she hung up the phone.

“Do you feel better?” Fenris asked.

Hawke gave a solitary laugh, “the better question is do you?”

“I have told you I trust you and that goes to your friends by extension. I am further along this journey than I ever thought possible and the credit is due to you.” Hawke looked down, and a faint hint of a blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“How do you know the Alexius guy?” she asked as she stood and stretched her legs.

“It's a bit of a long story,” he answered.

“How about I cook dinner, and you keep me company with the tale?” she held out her hand to pull him up from the floor.

He looked up at her but did not take her hand. “Am I forgiven?”

Hawke dropped her hand and heaved her shoulders with a sigh. “It's not a matter of forgiveness if it were then I should be asking you that question...I don’t want to be a replacement for Danarius,” her words were flat and pointed.

Fenris had anticipated by her demeanor that he would not like what she had to say, but this was beyond what he expected. Rather than enraged he felt shocked and was stunned silent. Fenris stood and held his hand out for her to take. When she did, he pulled her to him with an arm around her waist, the other on her wrist holding it against his chest. He could feel her breathing intensify and see her eyes fill with trepidation.  
  
“You are not Danarius. You are not Hadriana. You are not anything like the Magisters - you are more.” Hawke made an almost inaudible whimper. “You are on edge because you are not sure where the line is drawn between helping me and taking advantage,” he answered for her. “For now, please trust that I will tell you when you have stepped too far and I will do my best to be more communicative with you about how I am feeling and thinking. Neither of which could I do if you were taking advantage of me.”  
  
He held her there until she relaxed and laid her head against his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight, Fenris held her head and welcomed the embrace. Fenris began to sway in place, holding onto Hawke as he did. She followed readily and breathed easier. He would harness the moon at the cost of his arm for her, and he was confident she would do the same for him in return. Neither was prepared for the euphoric high in which they had lost themselves. “What do you want?” he asked, turning her oft-repeated question against her.  
  
They stopped their slow circling sway, and she pushed her head up to meet his eyes, “I want you.”

Fenris rolled his forehead against hers until he could lay a long, chaste kiss to her temple. He breathed in her scent letting his memories tie to the ginger and lime for easier recall. The fragrance was distinctly the opposite of her Fereldan roots, more akin to something familiar to Antiva. He wondered if Isabella had gifted the first bottle and whether Hawke continued to use it because she liked it or because it was from a cherished friend. He laughed to himself when he realized he did not know if she ever wore perfume or if the bath balm stood alone.  
  
There was so much he did not know. He could recite general trivia like her favorite color along with less apparent facts like her talent for watercolor. He knew of her origins and flight to Kirkwall. He knew the general outline of her character, but there was still so many blanks; he did not know what he did not know. He knew what she tasted like and how she felt against him, but he wanted to know her instinctively the way Varric did. If it were a goal that only time could fulfill, then he would gladly give the time necessary, uncaring for the precise amount required.  
  
He renewed his arms wrap around her, one at the waist and the other across her back; he pinned her arms beneath his. He held his breath and waited for the sound of hers and the feel of it against his chest as hers expanded. When he found her rhythm, he joined in so that his intake matched her output. He would need to decide for himself later where the line between the desire to fit with her crossed into self-alteration. For now, he wanted to be the missing half of her puzzle, matching and complementing at every turn.  
  
He had never seen a prolong coupling as Tevinter valued self-interest and preservation over loyalty and longevity. Marriage was common enough but usually short-lived once it filled its original purpose, usually power acquisition. Hawke had no power he wanted. He did not care for her estate or title. Her mage abilities were fascinating, but he was not envious or covetous; his markings were enough to satiate. True, wealth made life easier and she had it in spades. If the visions were accurate, then he had been poor as a child but happy nonetheless.  
  
Fenris pulled his shoulders back from her and cradled her head in his hand to better leverage light kisses along her hairline and her ear. Her hum of pleasure rolled through him and encouraged his progress along her jaw. “What do you want for dinner?” she asked, breaking his stride.

“This,” he answered with a suck on her neck.

“Fen,” she whined as he continued.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Aren’t I more of a dessert?” she asked as she pulled back from him, her eyes half-lidded.

Fenris let out an involuntary moan that sent Hawke’s bottom lip squarely between her teeth as her eyes flashed. “Yes, and I would very much like to spoil my dinner.”


	10. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has made a choice. Will Fenris agree?

“Yes, Fen, that’s it,” Hawke paused breathing deeply. “Almost there, just a little more,” she encouraged.

Fenris was dripping sweat and exhausted. They had been at it for hours, and Hawke refused to let up until she was satisfied. Although he craved the contact, he was not sure he could hold out much longer. He pooled his remaining strength and focused his efforts into one last surge, afraid to disappoint her if he stopped. His vision flooded with a blinding golden light and remained saturated for several moments. Hawke’s hands gripped him tightly, and he felt her breath against his skin reminding him to let out the one he had been holding. The rush of warm air in his lungs quelled the light, and his eyes fluttered open in response.

Hawke wore an expansive smile; lips flushed pink to match her cheeks. It was not an expression of disappointment, but elation. “You are brilliant!” she exclaimed. Continuing to catch his breath, Fenris lay back on the bed and let Hawke run her fingers delicately up his chest. “I am very impressed, Fenris,” she remarked with a kiss to his jaw. “I think we can declare you have mastered sustained connection.”

“Does it always take this much effort?” he finally asked.

Hawke laughed a little, “no I don’t think so, but then again we probably won’t do it for hours on end either. We needed to build your stamina to make sure you will be ready for any scenario.”

“I noticed you did not break a sweat.”

“Why would I? Connecting is second nature to me,” she gave him a quizzical look.

“Should you not be encouraging your partner rather than belittling him?” Fenris chided her.

“That was not my intention, and you know it,” she replied with a huff and sat up on the bed. “I just meant that I did not have to go through this process like you. I have always been able to connect. It would be the same as...nevermind.”

Fenris knew why she stopped and was grateful; he didn’t need the connection to see the analogy she was about to make. He reached out and ran two fingers down her back. When she did not face him, he poked the bubble of her ass repeatedly.

“Are you twelve?” she asked when she finally turned to him with a leg bent up on the comforter.

Fenris pressed up on his elbows, leaned over to her, and kissed her thigh. “Thankfully no, but some tactics do not grow old; they are too effective to retire,” he smiled up at her. Hawke rolled her eyes and left him to prepare dinner, Fenris watched her go as he rested a minute longer.

The last week had been a dream of a comfortable life filled with predictable domesticity. It should have surprised him how quickly they had formed a routine but he did not care, he only wanted it to continue. Days of sharing a sink to brush teeth, falling asleep with her in his arms, and waking cold, with her bundled in all of the covers.

Rationally he knew he should not feel the way he did, Fenris barely knew the woman. They were moving fast, partially due to the circumstances but then neither of them were taking steps to counter the speed. Their chemistry had been instant and undeniable; Fenris could not remember a time when he felt so comfortable with another person, regardless how long he had known them.

After their first day at his estate, he made a point to wake before her and go through his meditative exercises. She would rise sometime later and make tea, barefoot and dressed in an oversized t-shirt that stopped just far enough down her thigh to be decent. Once he heard the scream of the tea kettle, he would join her in the kitchen.

He would cut fresh fruit for their breakfast while she scrolled through the daily news reports. She would sit on the kitchen counter; he would stand between her legs with a hand resting on her thigh, her ankles wrapped around his waist. She would read an interesting article or turn her phone to him to have him read a headline or quote.

After a lazy start, her lessons would grow increasingly focused, until seriously devoted for a few hours and then they would break for lunch. Hawke would call the local deli for delivery while Fenris cleaned up their dishes from earlier. They would eat lunch picnic style in the back garden. During those moments they would share stories, hers about Ferelden and her family, his about Seheron and the Fog Warriors. He would make her laugh in unintended ways, and he would smirk at her unique expressions learned from the country roads of Lothering. Eventually, she would spark a connection and test his response.

Fenris had caught on much faster than either had anticipated, holding defined shapes of the desired color for minutes at a time, on demand, by the end of the first day. Hawke quickly set a goal of sustained contact that she expected him to meet, today’s four-hour mark had been his limit. They had learned by trial and error that Fenris could not open a connection, only sustain it for a time once exposed.

This meant that Hawke was continually buzzing his head every hour with a thought or comment. The side effect was a nagging, dull headache but the rush that the connection offered easily trumped any slight pain or annoyance by a faltered step as he learned to function with the feel of it.

He learned she preferred the element of surprise and enjoyed catching him off guard if at all possible. The first time had been while he was in the shower and she projected a vision of herself, nude, in front of a mirror; he slipped and but for the bench seat he would have landed on his ass. She heard the thud and instead of running to his aid, burst into laughter knowing through the connection that he was unharmed.

He responded by demanding to learn how to block his thoughts so that he did not have to announce every time he wanted to share. Hawke feigned difficulty in teaching that aspect of the connection but continued to buzz him relentlessly. In retaliation, Fenris upped their workouts and demanded increasingly tricky grapples and holds in her sparring sessions. She still wore a large purple bruise on her hip from failing to sustain her defense the afternoon prior.

Between connection, reading, and sparring lessons their days were busy and passed faster than he would have preferred. Often they would not stop for dinner until the sun had long set, which in turn led to late nights sitting by the fire. He would massage her arms and calves, sore from the physical training, she would stroke his hair and lightly drag her nails against his scalp to ease the tension from the mental fatigue.

“I was thinking,” Hawke started as Fenris joined her in the kitchen. “You’re ready to project images and thoughts.”

“Haven’t I been projecting those?” he asked confused as he turned on the stove to warm a pan.

She stared at her task and took no notice of his shift to her side. “You have, but just like reading starts with single word recognition and then moves to sentence structure, I think you’re ready to start projecting more than a single image.”

“Like when I showed you my memory from our first spar?”

Hawke chuckled, “you are my best student, and although I got the gist of what you were trying to convey, your projection then was nothing like the movie I played for you.”

“I am your only student,” Fenris said, disappointed to hear that his attempt had not been had the fluidity of hers, but not surprised.

Synchronizing so many senses at once was difficult. The warmth for one would often cause Fenris to overheat, so he had to fight to keep his body temperature down. Maintaining independent vision and hearing while also listening and watching an inner dialogue was nauseating. Luckily their lessons had yet to force him to communicate both in and outwardly at the same time, but he knew he would need to eventually.

By comparison, the reading lessons had been much more manageable. He was already familiar with the Common alphabet before they started and memorization was an ingrained skill born of necessity. The challenge had been for Hawke to find new and exciting things for him to read as he would memorize anything repeated more than once.

She had become so frustrated when he had already substantially memorized the books she brought that she chucked one across the room and caused a dent in the wall. She had cursed his excellent memory until he immediately touched her in the one spot behind the right knee that made her dissolve where she stood. He had learned that reaction their first time together and used it to full effect every time since. He forced her to admit that his memory was useful for many things and that she should be so lucky to have him. He would not tell her that she had a small diamond shaped birthmark that acted as a button for him to press.

“Only and best,” Hawke countered with a wink and brushed his cheek with her finger. The smile quickly faded, and Fenris could see her eyes dart between his: searching. “You do not have to do this you know. The crew has made great strides in uncovering Danarius’ nest, and Varric has Bartrand’s estate under a watchful eye.” Her voice was small and a crinkle formed at the top of the bridge of her nose.

Fenris finished drizzling oil in the heated pan and set the bottle on the counter to face her. “Hawke?” he questioned.

“Am I asking too much?” She stopped in the middle of slicing vegetables.

He was not sure how to respond. He thought for a moment about the novelty of their arrangement. He did not want their sequestration to end. He was happy to have Hawke at his side without a care for the outside world. She seemed content as well but hesitant, at least to openly discuss the thoughts that plagued her. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth that signaled an open connection. Imagining the heat as a beacon, he let his mind drift naturally to it.

“Hawke - show me.” A flood of warmth washed over him as she returned the connection, but nothing followed: no voice; no image. He wanted to do something, a bit uncomfortable with the silence, but a part of him knew that it would be better to wait. Several minutes passed until a white light filled his mind’s eye. He closed his eyes to focus on it as it grew clear.

The white was not a flood of light but an expanse of armor, gold trimming just visible over the curve of a chest plate. Fenris could feel the cold plate on Hawke’s cheek pressed against it contrasting with warm arms wrapped around her back. A wet tear fell down her cheek and into the corner of her mouth, he could taste the salt. Sebastian’s voice sang through the haze of the vision.

“Marian, there is nothing to be done.” Hawke sniffles but does not push away, rather embraces him tighter. “It is true that he needs time to sort through this and it is unfair to ask more of him. Aveline has a point, but I have found that the Maker sometimes gives us blessings when we least expect it.”

“Are you calling this a blessing?” she asks as she pushes to stand straight. Sebastian smiles and gives a small laugh.

“Who am I to say? I do know that any hope I may have harbored for myself faded upon his arrival. You have been happier despite the chaos.” His confession does not seem to surprise her. She lets him brush a finger against her cheek. “We are close to ending his nightmare, and there is little to justify your seclusion any longer. Perhaps you should step back and let him process.” Fenris felt her stomach turn sour at the suggestion as the image faded and warmth receded.

“When did you meet with him?” Fenris asked, letting the connection drop. The beginnings of anger pulled at the strings of his heart.

“Yesterday.”

“When I rudely fell asleep during the reading lesson?” he asked already knowing the answer. He had not been sure how long he had slept but woke up alone in the library. She had snuck out revealing her presence which ran counter to the entire point of their shared confinement. Not only had Hawke risked exposure but she did so to meet with a man whom she apparently shared an attachment.

“You fell asleep because I have been pushing you to exhaustion. You were mid-sentence and fell face first into the book.” He heard her but did not give attention to the words as he ran the images through his mind again. He stepped back from the burner and dropped his cooking towel on the counter as he turned to leave. “Fenris?” he heard her call to him, but he kept walking, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

He knew he should not be as mad as he felt, but he could not resist the temptation. He had agreed to every plan of hers all too willingly, and now he felt a hint of betrayal. What could be so crucial that Hawke would run out at the first opportunity, into the arms of another man? They had not discussed exclusivity, but Fenris thought it implied given the nature of their intimacy both physical and he was unsure how to classify the connection.

To make it worse, she had withheld information regarding the hunt for Danarius for at least twenty four hours, but he could not be sure how much longer. The last update had been quick texts she shared from Isabela, and that was almost three days ago. He had not pestered because he wanted to trust her process and, he reminded himself, he was enjoying their time together.

He ran to the back courtyard, scaled the wall until he found grip on the stones and climbed up to the roof. The sun’s last light was fading into the horizon as he sat down and secured his position to make sure his seat would not collapse beneath him. He brushed the snow of his hair back with calloused fingers and organized his thoughts.

He wanted Hawke. He had made that decision days ago and remained comfortable with it. He was jealous but unsure if justified. He had not given her time to explain her actions, and when he ran the scene through his mind again, he could not deny that Hawke seemed concerned for him.

She had not reacted to Sebastian the same way she had to him. Fenris had seen them together at the club and in gatherings since; they were close but not too familiar. He had the impression she viewed him more as a brother both literally and figuratively. Still, a part of him looked for reasons to distrust her and she had served one on a silver platter.

He felt at war within himself again, but this time three parts fought for control. His heart defended Hawke, arguing that she had not tricked him into being subservient hiding out in the house. It was for his safety not her whim of pleasure. His mind agreed with the later but still grumbled at the measure of control Fenris had turned over to her.

The newest voice was like a pride demon from the fade. It was irrational and demanding. It hollered accusations of weakness and stupidity and brought forth flashes of the abuse he suffered in Tevinter. His heart and mind joined in pleading for rational discussion of the revelation. Fenris picked himself up and sought out the only voice he could think that would be honest, even if brutally so: Varric.

Fenris was careful as he dropped down from the roof bit by bit. Careful not to be seen and not to cause injury as he ran to the Hanged Man’s back entrance under cover of the newly set night sky and darkness offered by tall buildings and alleyways. The club was quiet; it would be hours before the first patrons would arrive; the door was unlocked. “Varric!” he called out as he stepped inside. The lights were on, and he could hear soft music playing over the sound system as he walked out to the V.I.P. area. “Varric?” he called again.

“Maker’s breath, Broody! What are you doing here?” Varric asked, shaking his head as he stood up from behind the bar.

“Were you hiding?” asked Fenris confused.

“You aren’t the only one with a past,” Varric said as he poured drinks for them. “Does Hawke know you’re here?”

“No,” Fenris answered without looking at the man as he took a seat at the bar and reached for a glass. “I doubt we will have a repeat of last time though, and I won’t be gone long. I needed to talk to you.”

Varric gave him a weary look but shrugged and walked around the bar to join him. “What’s on your mind kid?”

“What have you discovered in the investigation?” Fenris asked, eyes focused on his drink. He could sense the tension building in his companion, the uncertainty of what to say or how much to reveal.

“You know that Danarius has ties to an import/export company?” Fenris nodded but did not look at Varric. “They have storefronts all over Thedas and ties to all sorts of legitimate and not so legitimate resources. The phone Danarius used was one of theirs, a cell that pinged off a tower in Minrathous. Merrill has kept a running list of every ping from the phone, but it seems it has not left the city. We don’t know if Danarius has exclusive use or if it was just a one-time thing.”

Fenris listened intently, only bothering to sip his drink as a pretext to not engage with questions. He had plenty but wanted the full story first. “Merrill thinks she found an underground entrance to the house on the blueprints but without knowing where it leads we can’t do more. Barging in from the front would not be the greatest idea either, at least not at this point.”

Fenris agreed but was disappointed nonetheless. “The guy that bought my brother’s old house is a Magister who focuses on research…” Fenris finally looked over at Varric when he stopped mid-sentence to gulp his drink. “Aggh, why do I always get stuck with the shit jobs?” Varric said aloud to himself.

“I am familiar with Alexius’ work,” Fenris offered, hoping that it would alleviate the man’s concerns.

“Then you know he requires test subjects.” Varric paused, seemingly to wait for Fenris agreement; Fenris nodded. “It looks like the import/export company operates as a front for ‘subject acquisition,'” Varric put the offensive words in air quotes as if it would soften the blow of the implication. Fenris knew Danarius was active in the slave trade and had not expected him to stop once his prize possession was gone, that did not explain the hesitation Varric and Hawke had.

“What are you not telling me?” asked Fenris as patiently as possible.

“We do not have proof of any of this. Merrill has done a damn good job sifting through the data that Isabela and Sebastian found at the company. Everyone has done their best to find out as much as possible. We have all burned the midnight oil on this Broody, believe me.” Varric rang his hands through his hair and finished his drink in one swig.

“Varric, what about this information would make Hawke cry and run into Sebastian’s arms?” There Fenris thought, he had revealed his insecurities and asked for information; kill two birds with one stone.

Varric gave a resigned chuckle, none of the heart of his full laugh or sincerity in his eye. “She has always turned to him as a confessional of sorts. She tells him things that she can barely say aloud, and he accepts her regardless. I can understand the jealousy, but then again, I don’t tell her everything either, so it's pretty shitty of me to expect her to talk to me about that stuff.”

Fenris listened, it was clear that whatever the friends had uncovered none were taking it lightly. “What is she not saying?”

“We think we found your sister.” The words hung in the air refusing to dissipate and Fenris was dumbfounded. “She is not a slave, Hadriana told the truth about that. If it is the same girl, her name is Varania.”

“Where is she?” Fenris asked trying to process the information.

“Alexius has her,” Varric answered with his head bowed in shame.

Fenris swallowed in his dry throat and nodded as the information passed over him. His sister was real and alive and not a slave, but held by a Magister’s whim. It would be better for him not to have a sister he thought to himself. The information was difficult to accept but did not explain Varric’s and Hawke’s reactions. They were not at fault, so why did they feel the need to hide it? “What else?” he asked, in a more demanding tone than he intended.

“Alexius was one of the key researchers to help Danarius unlock lyrium transfer.”

“I already know this.”

“Well, it would seem that once they had a successful test subject, namely you, Alexius went on to other fields. We don’t exactly know what the focus of his current research is, but it would seem your mother was one of his first subjects.”

“That is not entirely surprising. If I were successful for Danarius, of course, they would think my mother would be a good candidate for Alexius. Tevinter is obsessed with blood magic, and when they find a positive source, they tap it like a keg.” Fenris finished his drink and resigned to the idea he would never know the family of his dreams. They were memories, after all, memories he did not have but for a demon’s taunt.

“Hawke says you don’t remember anything before you were marked, is that true?” Varric asked in a shy voice.

There was no point in concealing the information; the others had seen his abilities that night in the slave den and had researched enough of his past to know more than him. “Correct.”

“You don’t know how you got those markings?” Varric asked standing to walk around the bar and pour refills. Fenris shook his head, and Varric passed him a full tumbler. “What if I told you that you asked for them?” Fenris knew why Varric had moved behind the bar and leaned against the back wall; he wanted as much distance between them as possible for this revelation. Fenris stared at him unblinking.

“As I said before, we don’t know everything and what we have is shaky at best…”

“But,” Fenris added, his eyes fixated on Varric’s.

“But, it looks like you, your mom and sister were all slaves at one time together. You fought for the chance to be Danarius’ aid to win their freedom.” Varric gripped the back counter and stilled waiting for Fenris’ reaction.

“They were not released, at least not as I would have hoped. My mother did not survive her testing, and they moved on to my sister, who has no doubt continued to be an integral piece for both Alexius and Danarius,” it was not a question but an assessment of fact.

“That’s what it looks like, and Hawke was not sure how to tell you. She’s lost almost her entire family and knows what it is like to want to keep them safe at all costs. I think she was afraid you would run off half-cocked and get yourself killed. We’ve been trying to find out more concrete information and come up with a game plan.”

Fenris could see the wisdom in their choice. He had once sacrificed his life for his family’s supposed safety, what was to stop him from doing it again? Hawke had pushed his training in an attempt to prepare him the best way she knew how. The rational thought and swell of appreciation for Hawke’s attempt to shield him tamped down the voice of pride which had resounded earlier.

For all they had shared, she did not know how he would react and played for time; it was a smart move, and he could not fault her for it. “She ran to Sebastian for guidance on whether or not to tell me.”

“Whatever Danarius is up to, he isn’t making any major plays that we can see. Bartrand’s house has been quiet, and the company man has not had any shady visitors. We think it's been safe for you to come out of hiding for a few days. Aveline wanted to tell you first thing, but Hawke was cautious. They fought about it actually, and in the end, we left the decision up to her.” Varric seemed to relax, signaling the worst of the information revealed.

“Anything else I should know?” Fenris asked, rolling the glass between his palms.

“Go easy on her and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Varric pleaded. “I know you must be concerned about your sister, and you want Danarius’ head on a platter, but you’re not alone anymore. You have us fighting for you, and more importantly, you have Hawke at your back. Maker’s breath she cares for you, and if you go down, I don’t think she will survive.” Varric’s eyes were watery as he spoke, and his jaw clenched.

Fenris understood what the man asked; Hawke needed protection as much as anyone. He took a deep breath and pushed up from the bar stool, “thank you Varric. I do not want to seem ungrateful. You have done much to help me, and it is a debt I doubt I will ever be able to repay.” Fenris meant every word, and he wanted the man to know that Hawke was safe by his side as much as he could promise anyways.

He bid his goodbye and made his way back to his estate, less careful to cling to the shadows now that the subterfuge was no longer necessary. When the house came into view, Fenris chuckled to himself. He should have felt sad and angry and wanted to lash out but playing it safe and patient had netted him allies, disrupted Danarius’ trade, and garnished him a house. They would find his sister and kill Danarius, Fenris was sure; he just needed to follow Hawke’s lead. He smiled at the thought, and when he reached for the door and saw his markings flare blue in reaction, he welcomed the homecoming. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


End file.
